


Sunday Kinda Love

by standbyme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Kid!Fic, M/M, domestic!Destiel, original characters (kiddos)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 10:01:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 47,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15216731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/standbyme/pseuds/standbyme
Summary: archive of old domestic!destiel works - most were ask prompts <3 fics are from 6 years ago and just imported here :)i take full responsibility for the Extra Cheese bad writing.(* in chapter titles denotes kid!fic)





	1. Chapter 1

The day was absolutely miserable;it had been pouring for hours without a break, and the sky was a dirty grey color that didn’t make any promises to stop anytime soon. Cas sat in the study upstairs, going over material for his teaching exam and listening to the drum of the rain on the room over the soft music coming off of his computer.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes, tired from staring at the print, and heard a sudden groan downstairs that was distinct from the thunder rumbling around the house. He let his hand fall back to the desk and glanced at the floor, only to be met by the sharp sound again and another duller movement. Panic rose for a moment - Danny and Faith still had at least fifteen more minutes of nap left, and Cas didn’t think he had the energy to deal with them if they didn’t get enough sleep. They’d been especially hard today: Faith had just recovered from a cold and was still stuck in a fussy phase, and Danny was never-ending energy, having been cooped up for most of the weekend. 

Polly jumped a little at another noise; she was currently draped over his feet and Cas stretched his toes anxiously under her furry stomach before pushing his chair back and standing. She followed him downstairs, her nails clacking, while Cas tiptoed past Danny and Faith’s room, peeping through the cracks to make sure they were still asleep before continuing to the stairs. 

At every creak he worried that Faith would start up, or that he would hear the sound of Danny opening his door, asking loudly for something to drink, but when he made it to the bottom, he was surprised at what he saw. 

“Dean?” He asked, staring at the mess of chairs in front of him. Dean glanced over his shoulder where he was lightly nailing the corner of a blanket into the wall and smiled. 

“The one and only.” Dean said cheekily, turning back to his work, doing his best to be quiet. Cas frowned.

“Should you really be nailing that?”

“The curtain covers it.”

“Hmm.” Cas hummed in response, moving around the couch to see better, now putting two and two together. Dean had taken chairs from the kitchen and moved them in as well as shoving the couch and Cas’s reading chair over  and moving the coffee table to make room for quite an elaborate blanket fort. The pale green blanket seemed to glow from the inside where Dean had placed a lamp on the floor in the interior and shoved blankets and pillows from all over the house in.

“I’m impressed.” Cas admitted, ducking his head under the the blanket, dropping down to look inside. He smiled. There were books and a few stray toys in there as well as  package of animal crackers.

“Yeah, well I figured that this would make the day more exciting. I feel bad - I told Danny we’d go to the nature reserve and see the animals, but then the weather happened.” Dean shrugged, stepping back and scooting in between the wall and the chair, laying the hammer and the nails on top of the bookshelf where little hands wouldn’t get them.

“Polly, no…” Cas laughed as Polly sniffed experimentally at the box of animal crackers and then looked at him sadly. Cas shook his head and reached patted his thigh, standing so she’d follow him like always, a constant shadow. “Not for puppies!” He exclaimed, retreating from the fort. Polly rubbed her nose against his leg and he dropped to a crouch again, petting her and scratching her ears, planting her with kisses right between her eyes and on her long nose.

Dean looked at the fort and nodded to himself before glancing at Cas who smiled back, walking to him. He scratched his back lightly and Dean moaned in approval, arching forward so Cas could get better access while his mouth found Dean’s shoulder blade. 

“They’ll love it.” Cas assured him and Dean laughed.

“They better!”

“Although, you almost woke them up in the process.”

“Well, you know.” Dean said, moving away. He straightened a corner of the blanket and then grinned. There was a muffled whimper came from the baby monitor on the table by the stairs and Cas took a deep breath. “Speaking of…” Dean mentioned, making for the stairs again, Cas and Polly trailing him from behind.

They went to Faith’s room first, to try and steal Danny about five more minutes. Dean opened the door slowly and Faith sat up, staring at him through the bars of her crib.

“Hey pretty girl!” He said cheerfully and Faith smiled at him and Cas, reaching her hands up to drag herself upright, bouncing on the mattress. Dean grinned at her and reached in to pull her out, kissing her fat cheek. “You have a good sleep?”

She made some shrieking noise and Cas laughed, smoothing a cowlick of her hair down.

“Oh yes, really?” He answered as she babbled. “Mhmm, tell me all about it.”

Faith squirmed and turned her attention back to Dean who reached up a hand to wipe the crumbs of sleep out of her eye and then pull her onesie back into place where it had gone askew on her round tummy. He prodded the bright yellow bird on it and tickled her.

“Let’s go get brother, yeah?” Dean said, and Cas moved to open the door fully, nearly tripping on Polly in the process. Danny’s room was quiet save for the drone of his fan and one of his hands hung over his bed, his face buried in the pillow.

“Danny.” Cas sang softly, sitting on the mattress, rubbing his back. Danny rolled over and tossed his hand out over his eyes, rubbing his whole face. He looked up through his hands at Cas who bent down and nuzzled his face into his son’s hair.

“Time to get up now.”.

“Mmmnooo.” Danny gurgled, and Cas laughed, sneaking his hand up to tickle him and brush the hair out of his eyes.

“Not even for a surprise downstairs?” He asked and Danny seemed to perk up at that, sitting up, with a case of bed head for the record books.

“Surprise?” He asked and Dean nodded, bouncing Faith who was starting to wiggle, making little frustrated sounds as she bunched up Dean’s shirt in her little hands.

“Yep!”

That got Danny’s full attention and he was scrambling out of bed, dragging his beloved stuffed puppy with him. Polly was quick at his heels, herding him as he scampered to the staircase, descending them slowly until he got halfway and saw the fort still set up.

“WOW!” He yelled, and Cas heard the thumping of him bounding down, and had to tighten his fist as Dean scolded him not to run. They had to pause at the bottom as Faith reached out her arms for Cas, making little squeaks, and Cas took her from Dean who followed Danny into the fort, dropping down to go after him. Cas watched them go behind the blanket, their shadows outlined by the lamp and the pale light from outside. Thunder rumbled closer and the rain picked up, and Danny and Dean started discussing something and their was the sound of a box being opened - the animal crackers.

He was jerked back to reality by Faith grabbing his nose, looking up at him with her big brown eyes wide.

“Hello…” He laughed, pulling her hand aside, her fingers gripping his. Cas looked at her face and then kissed her, mostly because he could. He looked at the fort, heard the hum of voices and then Faith demanded his attention again, so he yielded and swung her in his arms, walking and rocking her, making her light up. He grabbed his camera from the desk in the kitchen and set her on the ground when she protested about being held, her interest now commanded by the strange blanket structure and the loss of sight of Dean and Danny. She had to keep a hold on Cas’s hand to maintain her balance, but made little toddling steps towards the fort, looking at it, and then looking back up at Cas unsurely.

“Go see Daddy!” He said, grinning. “Dean! Dean show her where you are - ” Dean’s face popped out of the blanket and he held out his arms to her, Danny poking his head out too.

“C'mere sweetheart, c'mere see me!” He laughed and Faith giggled, stamping her feet, and Cas had to be quick to keep up with her. Her little hand released his as she stumbled into Dean’s arms and he helped her in. Cas watched her shadow as she stared up at the blanket, no doubt mesmerized. Her hands went up, sillhouetted by the lamp and Dean and Danny withdrew.

“Papa come in!” Danny insisted, “Come here Daddy set it up so we can watch amovie!”

“Hold on!” Cas said, lifting the camera.

He smiled, his heart clenching in that too-familiar way.

“Dean don’t you let that blanket come down on them!” He scolded, but it was drowned out by the sound of Danny laughing and the sloppy noise of Polly starting to bathe his face with her tongue, the constant nanny.

Cas clicked the shutter.

His brothers would never know this joy, and he felt sorry for them.

They would never know a rainy afternoon, or the strange sounds of infants when they called your secret names, the ones you recognized but could never translate.

Cas brushed the emotion away and dropped to all fours, climbing in after his family, all five of them sitting under the magic of the fort, spirited away to another place in the middle of their living room.


	2. watching

Cas  _loves_  made-for-TV movies.  _Loves_  them.

God help Dean if he doesn’t record ‘The Librarian’ or Stephen King’s ‘The Stand’ when they dare to make an appearance on the TV guide, because there will be hell to pay. Doesn’t matter how many times Cas has seen it – he has to watch it again, all with the same enthralled expression on his face, like somehow, the ending will turn out different.

Dean, on the other hand, would rather die than sit through another story like “When Andrew Came Home” or that weird one about the Diner Cas can’t get enough of. Unfortunately, winter means the TV in their bedroom is in a constant rotation of these shitty movies.

Sam usually, when Dean complains, which he does frequently, asks with a sigh why Dean just doesn’t engage Cas to change the channel, but then things get complicated. Dean gets defensive. Says he wouldn’t do that, says that it doesn’t bother him that much, that he finds other things to do.

It all sounds rightfully fishy to Sam, but when your brother is nearly the dictionary definition for contradiction you learn to let such things be as they are.

Sam would probably be the last person to be surprised, however, if you were to tell him the actual truth.

The truth being that when Cas gets into watching his movies, he becomes so apathetic that Dean can’t resist. All the fight leaves Cas to do  _nearly anything_. He stops what he’s doing: cleaning, working on homework, reading (a big deal when you can pull Cas out of a book, because he  _eats_ the things), and just watches. With it being December, it usually accompanies Cas shucking whatever proper clothing he is wearing in favor of his sweats and wool socks. Out come the Toblerones from his bedside drawer and his knees get drawn up under the duvet.

The shades are pulled and the room is dark and cavernous and oppressively warm, and Cas does look kind of zombie-like as he stares at the screen, blinking occasionally with his head so far back in his pillow Dean is convinced it’s going to swallow him and never spit him back out.

It’s adorable, and therefore Dean simply has to be a part of it, because really, nothing is cuter than Cas in his nest of sheets getting his feathers ruffled. That would be the reason, Dean supposes – to see his usually so  _active_  Cas, who is constantly moving, working, looking for purpose, to stop and collapse, practically boneless, in their bed at whatever time it happens to be, with his hair sticking up in twenty separate cowlicks and that serious look on his face, like the matter at hand playing on the screen is quite life or death, all while trying to convey this to Dean who doesn’t care, but makes a good show of acting like it.

Seeing Cas makes it easy for Dean to give in, not that he was one to deprive himself when he  _really_ wants something. Cas chuffs in annoyance when Dean worms his way near him, and Cas hisses when Dean’s cold feet fidget around, pushing up Cas’s sweats for the warm skin revealed, and Cas snaps at him when he tries to eat part of his Toblerone, but it’s worth it, Dean thinks, to revel in a Cas who smells like their blankets and is trying to watch his movie, but that’s difficult because Dean keeps asking about the plot every ten seconds. Dean’s a born tease, and Cas takes everything literally, and it’s more fun than anything else, sometimes to be childish and stupid and prod at Cas till he lifts his arm and let’s Dean nuzzle into his chest while Dean plays with the foil from the candy bar.

_“Ew, almonds…”_

_“Dean, you seriously act that surprised_ every _time you eat part of these things.”_

_“I forget how nasty they are.”_

_“They aren’t nasty, they’re good.”_

_“Hmmmmm…so, what’s going on?”_

_“He’s retrieving the Crystal Skull .”_

_“Who’s he?”_

_“The Librarian, Dean. That guy.”_

Dean knows Cas could boot him easily if he wanted to, but the hand that is starting to stroke his hair is saying otherwise, and as they settle together, and Dean inevitably falls asleep, they both know that Dean will complain to Sammy and Sammy will tell Dean to make Cas stop.

But it just doesn’t work that way with them.

It never really has.


	3. intruder

While Cas had been complaining of odd things for a week, it didn’t become personal for Dean until he discovered the hole in his Doritos.

It got personal  _fast_  then – fast enough for Dean to know exactly what the perpetrator was, and after standing stupidly for a few minutes, examining the tiny chewed corner of the bag and the crumbs leaking out of it, decided that it would never happen again. He knew mice – had the problem more than enough in seedy motels and abandoned houses for them to completely gross him out, and living off the road like they did meant it would have just been a matter of time. However, Dean was not about to let mice get the wrong idea about their two story farmhouse though – there would be  _no_  mice and more importantly,  _no chewed Dorito bags_.

Maybe yanking everything out of the pantry to search for the nest with his old hunting torch crooked in between his neck and shoulder, belly scraping the floor, wasn’t exactly the most mature decision, but Dean wasn’t one for wasting time. When the mouse got the Doritos, Dean got the mouse. Only, he had started dragging things out from under the sink and the stove and all he’d found was a trail of mouse turds, but no mouse to be found. His thirst for vengeance only increased, though. He had been looking forward to watching the playoff game and eating those Doritos, and now, without them, he’d be grumpy which would make Cas grumpy and when Cas was grumpy  _he never heard the end of it_.

Which wasn’t exactly true within itself, because when Cas was grumpy he usually pretended that  _nothing was wrong_ , but that was tortuous because then Dean had to coax him out of it and while that usually led to very satisfying ends, the build up was unfathomably irritating.

Dean was halfway through knocking the extra bottles of dish soap away with his elbow when the back door opened to reveal Cas. Castiel stared at Dean and around at the mess.

“Dean…?”

“Mouse! Little asshole’s somewhere – I know it!” Dean yelled back, his voice echoing in the cupboard he was buried in. Castiel set down the beer he was carrying and the sack of groceries among some displaced dry pasta and can of Quaker Oats and carefully stepped over the broom Dean had thrown out of his way when raiding the pantry.

“Dean!”

“He got the Doritos! The Doritos Cas!”

Castiel dropped to a squat beside Dean, putting a hand on the small of his back, wincing when Dean hit his head on the top of the cupboard before sliding out to stare at him, flashlight left to roll behind.

“Dean.” Castiel said, more firmly this time, and Dean blinked at him, pupils adjusting to the light. Castiel smiled and stood, rifling through his shopping bag, bringing out a new mouse trap.

“Dean, there’s a _method_  to these things.” Dean didn’t miss the mischievous gleam in Cas’s eyes as he said it, and he nodded in understanding.

“Yeah, of course.” Dean admonished, gruffly, smiling. He hadn’t seen Cas all day – studying for a teaching degree (or at least pretending to because when you are previously a millenniums year old celestial wavelength things seem to come easier in academics) will do that to someone, and Cas was looking especially good in Dean’s old flannel rolled over one of his own growing t-shirt collection. Cas, though, seemed to have other plans as he pushed Dean away from him once he’d stood up, putting the trap back in the bag, successfully stopping Dean’s advances.

“Now, you’re going to clean this up, and then I’m going to set up the traps, and then we’re going to go to dinner because you promised.”  Cas told him, and Dean just sagged.

“Whatever.” Dean grumbled, putting things away, Cas smiling at his back.

Later that night, fat with Italian and more than a little drunk on cheap Chianti, Cas found himself being shoved against the stove, fumbling with Dean’s jacket, the two of them making out like a couple of horny teenagers.

“Shit, watch the burners – !” Dean slurred, sliding him over so that the levers wouldn’t dig into Cas’s back. Cas doesn’t really hear him though, laughing instead as he fights his hands up Dean’s shirt, untucking it and clawing bluntly at the taught skin of Dean’s back.

They don’t do this often, but Cas is being needy, and before Dean would even think about stopping any of it his pants have hit the floor and Cas is letting his head slide down the door of the cabinet behind him, groaning, hands scrabbling at Dean’s neck.

Cas screams – but it isn’t exactly in ecstasy, because Dean yells too, and they jump apart, Dean tripping on his pants and slamming awkwardly into the table.

“SHIT!” he hisses, palming his hip as Castiel stares around, hair wild, looking for the source of the bang they just heard. Dean looks to him and then staggers to the pantry, stepping out of his pants to , opening the door so the light clicks on overhead. Cas slides off of the counter and pads beside him, and then Dean is bending down and withdrawing a dead mouse.

“GOT HIM!” He yells, whooping, and Castiel, perturbed by the situation and more than a little whoozy now that he thinks about it stares at the limp creature hanging from the trap.

“Oh – !” He says, running to the sink, throwing up his chicken alfredo.

“Cas?! Baby!” Dean cries, racing to Castiel’s side, still holding the dead mouse by the wood of the trap. Cas leans out of the sink, looks at the dead mouse and retches again, batting Dean away. Dean stands there, dazed, in his underwear, and then goes to drop the mouse in the trashcan before hurrying back to Cas, helping him to the bathroom.

“We got it, that’s pretty cool.” He says conversationally, as Cas moans about Baileys and why he is never going to drink it again, and not being able to cleanse his mind of the image of that dead limp mouse.

Dean rubs his back and leans his head on him when Cas is done, helping him clean himself up before the go to bed.

The next morning, hung over, Cas almost trips on Dean’s pants which are right in front of the trash, and as he sees the dead mouse sitting inside he can only imagine, picking up the pants and depositing them in the laundry room nearby.

“Dean, we got the mouse.” He says, pouring Dean coffee which Dean gratefully accepts.

“Yeah? I kind of remember that.” Dean grumbles, massaging his temple. Cas just shrugs and sits down across from him, receiving the two ibuprofen that Dean has passed him. “Christ, my hip hurts, and were those my pants you just put away?” Dean continues, scrunching his face.

Castiel nods.

“Yeah. I don’t even know.”

“Huh.” Dean says, looking up at Castiel through hooded eyes, steam rising around his face. Cas tips his head in confusion.

“Care to retrace my pants’ steps later?” He says and Castiel sips his coffee.

“Seems a mystery worth solving.” He adds with a smile and they sink back into silence, touching each other’s feet under the table.


	4. vantage points

It started when Dean had to fix the sink.

Cas had come downstairs after a nap to find Dean panting and grunting under the counter, his shirt riding up, exposing the smooth rounded edges of his hip bones and the stark trail of hair that started right below his belly button. Castiel had stood, a little mesmerized, as Dean gyrated, trying to get positioned so that the wrench could work the most effectively. When he noticed Cas he had smiled at him and held out his hand for a tool, which Castiel had promptly delivered, and then he was back at the sink and Castiel was allowed to continue staring.

It appeared that Dean had no idea that Castiel could see him, so Castiel had tucked this secret away and gone about his business.

Only, it hadn’t stayed  _so_  tucked away, for there were lots of other _views_  he could engage with Dean that Dean also never seemed to realize. It became – not an obsession –but something of a game that Castiel played with Dean that Dean had no idea about. The game was, how could Castiel, as subtly and gracefully as possible, get Dean into positions that Cas could appreciate the most. Of course, Castiel could reason, this was all innocent. Dean had a beautiful body. Cas had  _put him together_ , so it wasn’t anything…bad. It was merely, as Castiel had told himself before, an appreciation for the art Castiel had created.

The wonderful thing about the game was that it could be challenging. There were only so many times Cas could say to get him the book off the bottom shelf before Dean caught on, so he had to be creative. That meant putting Dean’s favorite things on high shelves so Cas could see the long line of Dean’s body as it reached, or dropping things on accident while he cooked but always when Cas’s own hands were busied so Dean would be forced to help him out.

But it wasn’t just the back of Dean that Cas appreciated, oh no.

“Do I have something on my face?” Cas would say, perhaps after working in the garden, and it was a thrill when Dean came as close as he could to inspect, thumb darting out to pat the dirt off of Cas’s skin, and Cas had all the time in the world to map the flecks of yellow in Dean’s eyes while Dean was preoccupied. There was also the flex of Dean’s biceps when he opened a jar or helped him start the lawn mower.

Laundry day was one of his favorites – he had to get up early and round up their clothes, but it forced Dean to walk out in his jockey briefs in search of clean pants, and Cas could get a very uninhibited drink of Dean’s skin while he folded towels. It was especially good if Dean put his pants on right there in the laundry room, which opened up whole other realms of possibilities – the curvature of his spine, the way his shoulder blades went snugly over his back, and of course, Castiel’s favorite, his supreme ass.

For months this continued with Dean none the wiser (to Castiel’s knowledge), and soon, it came so easily to Cas that he didn’t even realize he was doing it anymore.

It would have continued to, this game, but Castiel was beginning to be unconscious of his actions, and so, it had begun to bleed outside of their house.

Sam Winchester, it appeared, was far more observant than his older brother.

It happened after a particularly nice dinner – at Bobby’s house. Sam had to run out to the store for more beer and had borrowed a twenty from Dean. That wasn’t the problem; what  _was_  the problem was when Sam got back he had handed the change to Cas who had, and Sam had to make sure he wasn’t seeing things, somehow deliberately dropped a quarter which rolled over the hardwood and under the couch where Dean sat. Deliberately because the rest of the coins were balanced easily in his palm, but one had somehow ‘slipped’ from between the cracks of his fingers with a small separation of the digits.

“Oh, Dean, could you get that?” Cas said passively, folding the rest of the bills and slipping them into his pocket with the rest of the coins. Sam, stationed in one of Bobby’s recliners, watched in fascination as Dean nodded and then slipped to the floor. He dug around a bit, and then turned so his back was to them.

Sam wouldn’t have been bothered, but, Cas was  _staring._

Like really  _staring_ , and it wasn’t hard to guess at what.

This wouldn’t even have bothered Sam either – but it was the expression on Cas’s face that made him pay attention – it was an expression that said very plainly that this wasn’t some accident.

Castiel was smirking. Straight up,  _oh-yes-that’s-right-you-do-that_ , smirking. Something he would have expected from his brother because his brother could barely keep that kind of thing to himself, but from Cas? Never Cas.

“Uh…” Sam said, suddenly, and Cas slowly turned to Sam, eyes wide with horror. He was completely unused to being caught, and now, well, Sam looked just as shocked that Castiel was being so  _blatant_.  He looked back at Dean, and blushed.

“Dean, it’s not a big deal.” Cas started, only to have Dean look over his shoulder and raise his eyebrows.

“Nah, I almost got it…” Dean replied, still working his arm under the couch, scraping around. Sam watched as Cas’s face darkened, Dean’s ass hiking up, the underwear he wore peeking over his pants.

“Yeah, Cas.” Sam said, his own smile evening out the furrow on his brow, “He’s almost got it.” He looked back to the former angel blushing like a teenage girl next to him and gave him his best shit-eating-grin.

Dean grunted and Cas put his hands over his mouth, wishing the chair he sat in would swallow him whole.

“What are you idjits going on about?” Bobby said, entering with three mugs of coffee. He took one look at Dean and frowned, “What’s he doing under my couch?”

Castiel scratched at his skull, mortified, as Sam laughed.

“Nothing! Cas and I were just sharing perspectives.” Sam laughed, reaching over to playfully punch Castiel in the arm. Castiel couldn’t help it.

He laughed too.


	5. salt

Dean really had to work not to choke on his fork. His eyes widened and his pulse quickened as he sucked the remnants of the pie from the metal and then stared at it like it had personally offended him.

“What…?” He hissed, shoving the plate aside and moving to the kitchen. He stared at the apple pie he’d sliced into, innocently perched on the back burner where it had cooled. It looked normal, like any other apple pie - so why had it tasted like  _that_?

Something gleamed in the sink and when he took a look he noticed it was the standard measuring cup for cooking. It rested in a mixing bowl alongside a few other things used for baking, but it wasn’t what was there that caused Dean the concern, but rather what was absent that made his stomach drop. He pulled the measuring cup out of the basin with a clatter of utensils and inspected it further - something granulated stuck to the inside.

“Cas?” He dipped his finger along the ridge of the of the cup while he did so, testing his tongue on it. He grimaced.

It certainly wasn’t sugar.

“Hmmm?” Castiel hummed, coming to the kitchen, wiping his hands on his trousers. He’d been dusting the mantle on a whim when Dean had called. Dean held up the measuring cup.

“What did you use this for when you baked today?” Dean said gravely. Cas shrugged, looking at the rest of the things collected in the sink.

“Everything.”

Dean groaned, palming his face.

“ _How many times do I have to tell you Cas, it’s for_ wet _ingredients. Not_ dry.”

Cas blinked as the realization hit.

“Oh!” He exclaimed, coming to inspect the glass cup in Dean’s hands. “Oh -  _oh._ ” His voice diminished and he looked appropriately embarrassed, face flushing. His hands dropped away from Dean. “I must have forgotten. I’m so sorry Dean. Really I am.”

His blue eyes stayed glued to the floor, darting around, and as he tried to go around Dean and get the pie and throw it out, Dean put the cup back on the counter as quickly as possible in order to forcefully grab up Castiel’s face. He kissed him hard, quick and dirty, and Castiel gasped as he deepened it before drawing back as fast as he’d started. 

“Dean - what?” Was all Cas could say, trying to unhinge his fingers from Dean’s shirt before it tore. Dean smiled, as if what he’d just done was the most natural reaction to Castiel’s apology, which it certainly  _wasn’t_. But, then again, what part of Dean ever reflected anything sensible?

“You’re really cute, you know that?” Dean responded, kissing him again, chastely this time.

“But I ruined your pie.” Cas said blandly, jerking his face away for a third encounter. He studied Dean’s face, watching his fiancee shrug.

“You can always make it up to me later…” he answered suggestively, nipping at Castiel’s neck before walking past him. Cas jerked when Dean slapped his ass, sauntering out of the room to get his plate and bring it back.

“Dean…” Cas whined, not understanding, and as Dean reappeared he smiled.

“Don’t like you getting so put-out. Wanted to distract you. It worked, didn’t it?”

Cas blushed, shaking his head.

“Dean.” he sighed, taking the plate from him to rinse, adoring the way his hands smoothed over Dean’s fingers with the action. “Of course it worked.”

Dean grinned.


	6. enemy

“Little bastards.”

Dean looks up from his coffee at Castiel pressed at the kitchen window, his own mug clenched in his hand, and Dean recognizes the severe expression and who it happens to be for.

“They back? Already?” Dean says, interested, and Castiel shakes his head in disdain and moves for the door.

He doesn’t put his coffee down even as he stands out on the freezing patio of the back yard and yells.

“GET OFF! GO! GO HOME!” He shouts, waving his arms a little, and Dean snorts into his coffee until Cas gets too cold and comes inside, looking satisfied.

“You give em’ the old one-two?” Dean smirks and Cas goes back to the window, nods, and then joins Dean at the table, nibbling on his bagel that’s started to go cold.

“That feeder is for the birds.” Is all Castiel says, as usual, and Dean chuckles because Castiel is as serious about squirrels as he was about exorcising demons.

Knowing Castiel, the two really aren’t that different.


	7. indulgence

“Dean…?”

“What?” Dean doesn’t get up from the couch where he’s currently reclined, not even when Castiel’s tone tells him that he probably should. Instead he lays there, disgruntled at his nap being disturbed and that he has to acknowledge Cas’s irritated voice from the kitchen.

There’s the creak of the foundation as Cas walks into their living room, and even with his eyes closed Dean can feel the blue eyes mapping over his still body.

“Dean, what is this?”

Dean, sighing, because Cas is going to pursue  _this_ , and he honestly doesn’t even remember what he did, cracks an eye open and then looks away quickly. 

“Those look like Cosmic Brownies.” He says evenly, tensing his shoulders. More like, they  _were_  cosmic brownies. Not that Dean knows anything about that.

Castiel gives him an incredulous stare and then reaches into the long, slim, cardboard box he holds.

“Dean,  _I bought these yesterday.”_ He deadpans, pulling out a hand that crunches with empty wrappers. He gazes at them and then back into the box his face painted with disbelief. “Dean,  _yesterday_. Where do put them Dean? Honestly? There are…” He scans the nutrition facts. “…Dean there are  _twelve of these_  per box and you ate them all.”

Dean smirks when he hears how slightly impressed Castiel sounds at the final issue. Dean himself didn’t know how he managed to go through the whole box, but there he was with a Trek marathon on the local channel and a box of Little Debbie’s and Castiel off doing some stupid neighborhood association thing. He indulged.

“Dean, you didn’t even  _try_  to hide them. You just shoved them back in the box.” Cas gestures at the container, shaking his head at Dean’s stupidity like it’s something to be marveled at, “Dean, you just put the box  _back in the pantry_.”

Dean shrugs, pursing his lips, eyes still squeezed shut. He hadn’t really been thinking about it at the time.

“Dean, it’s  _two. feet._  To the trashcan.” Cas remarks dryly. “Are you even listening Dean?”

“Gotta make a goal and follow through, Cas.” Dean grins, one eye winking open to stare at Cas who blinks at him. He doesn’t smile as he sighs, shaking his head, shoving the remainder of plastic wrappers back into the box.

“Your love affair with food concerns me.” He offers, voice dripping with sarcasm, looking at Dean sideways, his eyes a lovely mixture of amusement and exasperation at Dean’s antics. Dean grins at him and wiggles his eyebrows.

“You think you are really funny, don’t you.” Cas drawls, giving him one last pointed look before turning around and heading back into the kitchen.  
  
“I’m precious.” Dean calls back, snuggling back into the couch. It’s just as he’s about to really get into his nap that he hears the cupboard open again and he tenses. He forgot about the package shifting right beside him.

“Dean, where are my mint Oreos?”

Dean takes one out of the tray, staring at it before popping it in his mouth, just as Cas rounds on him again.

“Couldn’t tell you!” He says, mouth full, and a cupboard closes loudly.

“Dean  _I like those_! You said you didn’t!” Cas says sternly and with a hint of pathetic sadness to his voice, appearing again in front of the couch. Dean looks at him, the picture of innocence and breaks off half of the cookie sandwiched between his lips.

“They make me think of Spock.” He answers, “Black hair and green blood!” he points to the black outer edge and the green minty frosting inside, trying to pull that ‘I’m so endearing come cuddle with me and we’ll forget it’ kind of look. Cas reaches foreward and snatches the rest of the cookie, stuffing it in his mouth.

“You are ridiculous.” He chews at Dean and Dean laughs, eating another cookie.

“You don’t appreciate me. Or my references.”

“Dean!” Castiel is about to get riled, and Dean eats yet another oreo, black crumbs skirting his lips. Castiel shakes his head in finality, throwing a hand to his hair, petting the unruly black. “Why do I even bother?” He growls, “It’s like talking to a child…”

“Come on, you love me though!” Dean throws as Cas goes back to the kitchen, this time to finish looking for something sweet that  _hasn’t_  been eaten by Dean.

Dean grins when he hears the grumbles from the cabinets.

“Don’t remind me, I’m supposed to be mad.”


	8. costume

Dean isn’t exactly the friendliest person in the world, but during Halloween it’s like he’s donated all his sense of humor to science.

“Dean, I don’t understand the premise of your costume.” Dean looks up from the newspaper he’s reading and stares at Cas with an expression that clearly reads  _are you even kidding me_. He looks back at the paper and smirks. “You are wearing what you usually wear.”

“Well Cas, that would be because I’m being  _me_  for Halloween.”

Castiel’s brow furrows - the inflection of Dean’s tone indicates something different than his expression, which is that same smirk. Cas wishes that Sam were there to explain, because he’s at a loss.

“Is that accepted behavior? The idea of Halloween is to enjoy the festivities while being something you are not.” Cas deadpans and Dean flips the top of the paper down again, only his green eyes exposed. 

“Cas, what the hell are you even supposed  _to be_.” Dean asks, cleverly evading Castiel’s oncoming speech by gesturing to Castiel’s get up while he throws his newspaper to the side, studying the sheet that Castiel has draped over his clothing and the small dot the middle of his forehead.

“I am Siddhartha Guatama.”

Dean blinks at him.

“Buddha. I thought the irony would be…comical.” It’s Castiel’s turn to smile at himself - infinitely amused by his own idea. Dean rolls his eyes and the door bell rings. Dean groans at the prospect at hearing that same noise for the next three or so hours, but Castiel hustles to the door, brandishing his candy bowl.

The kids at the door are middle schoolers and Castiel obviously has no idea who they are even when they tell him, buried under the pop-culture references that each represents. From his vantage, Dean can’t see Castiel’s face, but he’s sure it’s priceless based on the raised eyebrows the kids are sporting. They’re quite the little bunch: what looks like a Brittany Spears and two others that Dean doesn’t care about.

Castiel, instead, while passing out candy, offers them suggestions, receiving blank stares as he does.

Who would have thought the average ten year old wouldn’t chomp at the bit to be Plato or an ancient Tang Dynasty warrior or  _King David_?

The next batch makes Dean laugh out loud though - Cas’s expertise in the area of the undead is extensive after the apocalypse, so as he puts the candy aside to appraise the children’s obviously amateur makeup with direct scrutiny, Dean has to grin at the absurdity. The poor kids look honestly scared and walk quickly away, throwing wary stares over their shoulders as they go.

For Dean, it makes Cas’s antics tolerable and all the more endearing. After all, how often does Dean get to see an angel of God standing watch at the front door, clutching a bowl of snickers and waiting in a bed sheet with an expression so serious that he doesn’t even look like he’s having fun? The laughs only increase as Cas starts timing the trick-or-treater’s and begins opening the door before they can ring the bell, making the all scream usually.

Dean laughs so hard tears roll down his cheeks as the kids gaze up at him in confusion at what the hell he’s doing when he tells them their costumes aren’t at all accurate, or that they have no real validity, or perhaps they should have chosen a more honorable selection for dress. He tells one child he looks heavily like the scientist Louis Pasteur and the kid doesn’t even wait for his candy, but walks away.

Cas, undeterred, simply carries on as usual, and Dean falls a little more in love. 


	9. put it in park

“Get out of the car.”

“Dean I am - ”

“ _Get. Out. Of. The. Car.”_

Castiel sits with his hands folded under the steering wheel, unsure of what to do.  Dean’s been saying that same phrase with slight variation for the past three hours, but never once has Cas actually  _gotten out of the car_  and Dean doesn’t force him, so he stays. Besides, they are on an abandoned road and Cas isn’t exactly fond of the idea of walking back to Bobby’s in the oppressive heat they face. Dean massages his entire face, the skin making a slight rasping sound over his stubble, exhasperated. Castiel remains quiet as Dean sits back in the seat and inhales.

“…makes teaching Sammy look like a freakin’ sunday drive…” the hunter growls between clenched teeth. Castiel tentatively places his fingers back on the wheel, squeezing it.

“I am ready to try again.” Castiel mumbles, and Dean opens his eyes, staring blankly out the windshield. He sighs, and turns to the former angel, can’t help but give for that determined expression, driven to succeed and uncaring of the time it takes to accomplish it. Damn him, he’ll teach him how to drive if it kills them both.

“Ok, let’s try again…”


	10. lists

They are just about to fall asleep when Castiel speaks.

“Detergent.”

Dean twitches a little at how deep Cas’s voice is, eyelids heavy, mind wandering, arms thrown back over his pillow. His knuckles brush the headboard as he shifts a little towards Cas in their bed, trying to entertain Cas’s late-night thought before he passes out entirely. 

“What?” Dean says, voice thick and sleepy.

“Detergent.” Cas replies, rolling towards him, rubbing his face, muffling his words. “I forgot…” He trails, “…I forgot to put it on the list. Knew I was forgetting something.”

“Oh.” Dean replies.

“You want that same kind?”

“What kind?”

“‘Spring Rain’. The scent.”

Dean shrugs under the blanket.

“Can’t really tell the difference, Cas.” He breathes and Castiel isn’t even listening anymore, already back into his own head, making notes.

“I’ll just stick with the Spring Rain then…or maybe that new one…vanilla?”

“Yeah, sure.” Dean yawns, “Whatever…”

“I think I have a coupon anyway…”

“Hmm.”

“Dean, don’t let me forget.” He whispers and Dean takes a long deep breath.

“Course not.”

“I’m serious.”

“Ok.”

Cas nuzzles his head into the pillow and throws his arm over Dean’s chest, smiling briefly as Dean runs his fingers over the ridge of his wrist where it’s settled against his side.


	11. alarm clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (polly is a corgi raven & i gave them at one point)

Sometimes Dean does this thing.

This mean thing.

Where he -

“Come on Polly! Come on little girl! Oh my god Polly, you idiot, come  _here_! Come here! Come on! Good girl!”

“Dean - Dean  _noooo_  please no…”

“Let’s wake papa up! Ok! Yes! Let’s wake him up! Yes!”

“DEAN. DEAN STOP - NO - OH - ASLKDJFA;WOLEJFL;KJ…”

\- dumps the dog on Cas’s head and she squirms and licks and bites his hair and his fingers and  _whines_  and demands he get up, and no matter what Cas does he can’t get her off of him -

“Whose a good girl! Come on Cas! Polly says it’s time to get up now!”

“You -  _Polly. Polly stop that that is not a toy - ow!_  - think you are so funny.”

“I think it’s  _hysterical_ , actually.”

“Take  _your dog_.”

“She’s your dog, baby, if you would remember: ‘we should get a dog’, 'I want a dog’, 'let’s get a Corgi they are family friendly and manageable’….”

“You think you’re so smart too.  _Polly stop that_.”

“I’m not the one with ten pounds of Corgi on my head. How’s it all working out for you?”

“ _Polly_! Polly you want Daddy’s left over bacon cheeseburger? You want that?”

“Cas no! CAS! NO!”

\- but Cas doesn’t let it bother him  _too_  much.


	12. welcome home*

“Is today the day?!”

Dean looks up from his coffee to see Daniel jumping up and down at the kitchen table, shoveling handfuls of cheerios in his mouth, passing some of them to Faith. Dean smiles and watches as a round little ‘o’ sticks to Faith’s cheek as she looks at him doe-eyed and then back to  Daniel, opening her hand for more cereal.

“Today’s the day.”

He returns to making toast and thinking about the turkey thawing out in the refrigerator, his leg jiggling against the counter. He’s not going to think of flight delays, even if it is the day before Thanksgiving.

|

The airport is, naturally, packed, and Dean has second thoughts about bringing Faith with them as he navigates security with Daniel about to hyperventilate with the excitement of it all. Between the rapid fire questions from Daniel that Dean can’t answer and Faith crooning her strange baby-talk

“Daddy, I wanna fly planes!” Daniel nearly shouts as Dean helps him back into his sneakers, all three of them having cleared the x-ray. He glances at Faith and is relieved that she’s playing with his keys in her stroller, quite fascinated by them. Now if he can just keep them in her hands and off of the floor…

“Go for it, dude.” Dean says offhandedly, at the same time trying to ignore the young, redheaded, TSA who is ogling him. He fights the urge to roll his eyes. He knows it’s the  _he’s so sweet kids_  with thing, but does she really need to stare at him like that?

It just makes him miss Cas even harder.

 _Twenty minutes_.

Dean thinks, and he can’t help the smile creeping over his face. Why the hell they butted Cas’s conference up with Thanksgiving Dean could only guess at, but it made the traffic hellish and the wait for Cas to come home even worse.

Juggling two kids was way harder than Dean ever anticipated and he had the newest appreciation for just how well Cas seemed to manage it when Dean went on the occasional hunt with Sam.

Finally though ,they’re in the terminal and Daniel drops Dean’s hand before he can snatch him back up, racing for the windows. He smooshes his face to the cold pane and looks at the empty gate devoid of aircraft and then swivels around to face his father with disappointment.

“Where’s Papa’s plane?”

“It’ll be here.” Dean assures him, moving to sit in the row of black chairs right in front of the glass. He frees Faith from the trappings of her stroller before she can get fussy and pulls her up out onto his lap. Seeing this, Daniel, still a tad jealous of his beloved baby sister’s attention-stealing nature, comes to Dean’s side to, climbing up onto a chair before he worms his way onto Dean’s lap too. Faith looks at her brother and blinks before shoving her finger into her mouth and looking with renewed interest at Dean’s hand, turning it over and over and patting it with her own tiny palm.

“When’s it gonna  _be_  here?” Daniel whines and Dean glances at his phone before shoving it unceremoniously back into his pocket.

“Ten minutes, little man.” He grunts and Daniel sighs, shifting around on Dean’s lap before he’s standing, leaned up against Dean’s shoulder, one arm wrapped around his shoulder.

The time goes by, Daniel asking every few minutes, and then, Dean’s phone vibrates.

_Just landed – see you soon_

Dean shows Daniel the message and this pacifies him for the moment, his eyes scanning the darkened window for Castiel’s plane. A little while later the plane comes into view and Daniel wiggles excitedly, Faith reaching out to tug on his sweatshirt.

“Is that it? Is that papa’s plane?!” Daniel cries and Dean lets himself grin, because by god, he’s excited too. Relieved, and exhausted after a week alone, but mostly excited.

“Yep, that’s it!”

They stand, at Daniel’s insistence, and it feels like the plane takes a million years to dock itself at the gate and for passengers to start disembarking. Dean puts a hand on Daniel’s head as he jumps up and down – they are strategically placed a few feet back so as not to get run over, but with every person who exits, Dean is pretty willing to bet that Daniel gets closer and closer to lunging for the doorway leading towards the parked jet.

Faith starts to keen a little bit, anxious with the excitement and just as Dean reaches up to adjust her in his arms Daniel rockets off.

“Danny!” Dean calls, using what Cas likes to call his ‘business voice’, but then Dean catches sight of a plaid scarf and a dark blue jacket.

“PAPA!” Daniel wails, and Dean watches as his son plows headfirst into Castiel’s stomach, nearly sending him backwards into the lady behind him. Thankfully the woman appreciates Daniel’s enthusiasm and happily goes around, the rest of the exiting passengers following her lead.

Daniel buries himself in Cas’s middle and Cas hugs him back, stooping down to kiss the top of Daniel’s head and smile into his hair.

Castiel says something to Daniel which makes him exceptionally happy and then (and  _then_ ) Cas looks up and meets eyes with Dean and smiles that very special, very secret, smile. It’s small – but Dean knows that it conveys way more than it lets on. It says  _oh my god I missed you_ , and  _can we please go home now_ , and  _if you could even understand how much I want to kiss you…_

Cas takes Daniel’s hands and they meet halfway, Faith registering it’s Cas and starting to squirm and squeal.

“Hi baby.” Cas soothes, reaching out to take her tiny hands and kiss each one before kissing her fat face. Then it’s Dean’s turn and their mouths meet for a few seconds before Cas let’s go and goes back to Daniel, hugging him again.

“How’d everything go?” Cas says, straightening himself as Daniel plays with his unoccupied hand by threading his own fingers through it.

“It was good.” Dean says, watching Cas as he interacts with Faith, smiling at her with dizzy eyes and she squeals back at him.

Dean thinks he could probably watch it forever, the people milling about all around them, the sound of the intercom blasting Christmas music above their heads.

“I missed you terribly.” Cas replies, kissing Dean again before they start heading for baggage claim.

“We missed you too.” Dean murmurs, but Cas isn’t listening. He’s too busy grinning at Daniel who’s asking him all about his trip.

Dean lets himself be quiet, beyond elated that Cas is just  _there_. He’s back, and he can hear his voice and watch him move. Watch the tiniest flex of his fingers around Daniel’s, the curve of his mouth as he says:

“Did you have fun with Daddy for a week?”

The way his eyes hood when he looks at Dean, the way they spark as he finally gives in and takes Faith into his arms, plastering her with kisses that make her shriek and tug at his scarf and his hair.

They stand next to the conveyor belt now and Dean finally just hugs Cas good and proper, even though Daniel and Faith are kind of pressed between them.

“Welcome home.” He says, and Cas nudges at Dean’s nose with his own.

“S’good to be back.” He mumbles, and Daniel clings to their legs, going on about wanting to be a pilot as his parents break apart and Dean reaches out one big hand to ruffle his hair, his other arm around Cas’s back.

"So, I’m thinking we should fry this turkey…” Dean says conversationally, and he raises his eyebrows at Cas who rolls his eyes and elbows him lightly in the side.

“Of course you’d be thinking of food.” He teases, and Dean laughs, suddenly not so tired, even after a week alone with two kids. 


	13. two-step

Dean stops tuning the Impala to eye the radio on his work bench with consternation.

Static pours, blurring and obscuring the song that had been playing into a garbled mess.  Frowning, he stands and walks to the radio, pushing it around on the bench, but the station seems to have some kind of problem, so he settles for tuning it to something else.

Static is all he hears until he catches a snatch of something vaguely familiar. Furrowing his brow he tunes it till the song fades in and then comes at him full blown. It’s a song that isn’t terribly old, but he knows nothing about this kind of music.

What he remembered, more than the actual song, was a pretty red head in a honky tonk outside of Forth Worth who had pulled him out on the dance floor and told him she was gonna ‘teach them bow legs how to dance if it was the last thing she did’. Dean wasn’t one to argue with girls like her, her pearly smile and sweet-tea personality, especially back then.

So he’d gone on, Sam raising his eyebrows, as if daring him and Dean had smirked back. Challenge accepted.

She’d put his hand on her waist and her shoulder and told him, shouting over the heavy guitar.

_One and two and one and two and step and step!_

Dean had fumbled, but eventually, picked up and then it was nothing but that same song and that same dance and that pretty girl tossing her head, laughing at him and his concentrated faces.

“There you go!” She’d told him, and after wards, after they’d done another dance, one he was more proficient at, she’d kissed his cheek and called him sugar, like good Texas girls did.

As the song continues, Dean remembers this and looks at the open door into the house, smiling.

“Cas! Hey Cas, com’ere!”

Cas looks up from the apples he is currently peeling for another attempt at pie and blinks at Dean.

“Something wrong?” He says, going back to his peeling. A hand suddenly appears in his line of sight, pushing the knife to the cutting board.

“Dean – come on, I need to do this…”

“Just come here, please? It can wait, I wanna show you something!” Dean demands, tugging more insistently. “It can wait, I promise, just come here for like, five minutes.”

Cas sighs and puts the fruit and knife aside and let’s Dean lead him by the wrist to the garage again. He is confused when he hears the country music station playing where usually there would be ’86.9  _The Hawk’_ , and as he looks around he can’t find something very out of place. Dean turns and faces him though and smiles.

“Dean, what are you up to –?” It’s all Cas can get out before Dean takes the wrist he’s holding and pulls it up to shoulder level, his other hand settling on his hip.

“Now, don’t get upset because you have to be the girl.” He teases and Cas looks around, as though there’s some kind of joke going on.

“Dean?”

“Ok, now I’m gonna teach you to two step, but you have to cooperate, ok?”

Dean starts moving his feet slowly, off time with the music, and Cas shuffles with him.  
  
“Just let me lead, it’s easy, you’ll get the hang of it –“ He steps like that girl taught him, and Cas jumps a little, tightening his hand on Dean’s waist, smiling weirdly at Dean before he goes back to looking at their feet.

“One and two and one and two and…” They shuffle quick and Cas nearly knocks over a bucket full of nails, Dean pulling him out of the way just in time, laughing like an idiot.

“There you go! Told you you’d get it!”” Dean says loudly and Cas grins, proud of himself, and able to look up into Dean’s face instead of their shoes. They keep it up, getting back into the beat of the music that plays till Dean is laughing so hard he’s red in the face and Cas is too, but not hard enough to scold Dean for stepping on him. Their eyes don’t stray from each other, the rest of the world pretty much forgotten for a few precious minutes.

 _This is what it’s about_. Dean remembers, thinking of the records they played in the living room the day after Christmas.

_This is what it’s about – saying it without saying it._

“Come on! Keep up!” Cas mocks, and this just makes Dean laugh even harder, their fingers tangling together as the song moves into the bridge.

Dean moves them faster and Cas feels his arm starting to tingle from holding it up, but he doesn’t want to stop, even when he thinks about the apple going brown in the kitchen.

The song comes to its ending and the two keep up their dance for a few bars into the next before stopping and laughing at each other’s dizzy faces and red cheeks. The garage is oppressively warm from Dean’s space heater and the winter wind beats against the garage door, but neither are bothered.

“You are too fast a learner.” Dean comments, panting and Cas doesn’t say anything but changes their positions so he’s the one leading.

“You better be ready next time then.” He responds playfully, looking haughty for a moment.

“Next time?” Dean says roughly, and then he reaches forward with both hands to grab Cas’s face and kiss him hard and quick. “You’re something.” He says between another two presses of their mouths, both of them still breathing a little heavy.

Cas dives into the gesture, nipping at Dean’s bottom lip, his hands sliding up Dean’s ribs, under his flannel over shirt. Their noses bump and then smush together, both of them getting enthusiastic until Dean breaks away and raises his eyebrows, satisfied with the debauched state of Cas’s mouth.

“Pie?” He says boyishly and Cas looks blandly at him.

“Really?” Cas grumbles before kissing him again, Dean pushing him up on the workbench next to the radio that still spits honky tonk jukebox tunes, Cas’s knees knocking on Dean’s sides.

They tangle together, huffing, and then Cas pushes Dean away, rethinks, grabs him by the collar and kisses him again, and then  _really_ shoves him off.

“Your pie, Mr. Winchester.” Is all he says, smirking, pinching the little bit of skin exposed right above Dean’s right back pocket where his shirt has ridden up. He slips off the workbench and let’s Dean kiss him greedily again. 

“Speaking my language.” He mouths on Cas’s cheek and Cas pecks him once more before walking back inside.

“Dinner in an hour.” He calls and Dean straightens his shirt and his hair and laughs and grins stupidly, shaking his head. He considers changing the station and doesn’t, wandering back to the Impala, twirling his wrench.


	14. window shopping

“Charlie! Charlie, wait sweetheart!”

They were in front of the Macy’s, Dean shuffling bags around like some kind of juggler. It didn’t help that Cas was pointedly  _not_  helping.

“Cas, come on, take this.” Dean grunted, shoving one of the many bags into Cas’s limp hands. Cas jerked into reality, snow pillowing down on the street with little flurries and eddies in the wind, some sticking to his hair and the lapels of his coat. It created quite the scene – the main street of their sometimes too perfect town lit up with lights, the main drag’s streetlights brocaded in fat velvet bows and huge garlands of holly. With the snow, it really wasn’t any true wonder that Cas was distracted. He had the sensitivity of a child when it came to stimulus like Christmas.

After a moment though, Cas went right back to zoning out, watching something intently across the street. Giving up on getting him to hold anything else, Dean followed Cas’s persistent gaze instead, and what he saw surprised him.

A younger couple with an even younger son trying to wrangle him closer to them. Crowds were starting to line the street for the annual Christmas parade, and way far down by the post office Dean could see the congregation of high school marching bands and fire engines.

“Charlie!” Cas almost seemed to prick up when the woman’s voice carried across the street.

The little boy, with his blonde hair and shrieking laughter, made Cas’s hands clench unexpectedly tight on the handles of his one bag, his eyes widening as his Father leaped into action, walking a few brisk steps down the avenue to snag him around his middle, swinging him up into his arms.

“Charlie!” His mother said, the exasperation obviously forced as she came to smooth his forehead and kiss his red cheeks and nose, the father grinning. “Stay with daddy and mommy!”

The boy giggled and Cas numbly felt his hand travel up to his chest to scratch at the material just above his heart. It was a queer feeling – like something was wiggling right there, something warm and squirming – and one he’d never felt so strongly.

“Cute kid.” Dean commented, watching the family interact as Castiel’s face went from curious to scrutinizing, as if he was trying desperately to find an answer in the way the young family seemed to move as a unit closer to the curb, the mother’s arm linked with the father’s, the little boy – Charlie – perched on his shoulders, looking around in wonder.

Cas turned to Dean at that moment and looked at him. He was checking his watch, obviously worrying over getting the car out before parade traffic got bad. Cas’s heart swelled, the squirming got worse, the feeling of his throat getting tight with a sensation he could now identify as the peculiarly human expression of  _longing_.

Mapping the perfect profile of Dean’s face silhouetted in the glow of the Macy’s window, Cas was very much overcome by love for him. He was  _always_ , near  _constantly_  overcome by love for Dean, but in this instance it magnified in a way it had never magnified before. It all seemed to spill out of him and pool at his feet. It manifested in Cas’s shaking hand as it gripped Dean’s forearm suddenly and firmly.

“You okay?” Dean said, his concern obvious. Cas took a deep breath and looked at Charlie’s family.

“I…I want that.” He said quickly. Dean looked at the toe-headed toddler, his heart rate increasing. This was happening. In front of Macy’s, people flowing around them in holiday stupors, snow swirling down. This was about to happen.

It was happening.

Dean remained silent as Cas looked at him, as sincerely and earnestly as he’d ever looked at him in his life.

“Dean.” He whispered, moving closer. “Dean, I  _want that_. More than anything – a-anything in the entire universe.”

Dean swallowed, matched his eyes to the family. The little boy.

His head swam with things.

_Taking a boy to the ballgame, tossing a football, trips to the zoo, Cas’s spaghetti…_

Cas’s hand on his arm anchored him as he felt the world spinning under his feet, his whole body feeling cottony.

He cleared his throat into his closed hand, Cas still looking at him.

“We…It’s…” He started and cut himself off, magnetized to the site of the father who was now wincing with a smile as Charlie pulled on his hair.

“I know it’s a big decision. I’m sensitive to that – but Dean.” Cas stepped even closer, wrapping a hand around Dean’s shoulder right behind his ear.

“Can you see it?” He whispered.

Something in Cas’s voice moved the world again.

Shifted it.

Because, the truth was, Dean could.

He could see it, and then it became blurry and Dean coughed a laugh because goddammit he was getting sentimental and he was always such an easy crier, and his dad always gave him such shit about it growing up.

God help him, he could see it.   
Kids.

 _Kids_.

And Cas.

 _A family_.

With the soccer practices and the report cards, with the riding on shoulders and the little hands and clumsy fingers.

Standing in front of Macy’s, Cas burying his face into the back of his shoulder, both of them laughing as they imagined it, and how natural and right it all seemed. Dean knew, realistically, that it would be complicated. Everything with them was, but he had learned a long time ago that sometimes the complicated things were the ones worth fighting for.

“Ok.” Dean conceded. “But Cas, we have to talk about this…there’s rules and things and…”

He was cut off when arms threw themselves around him from behind, holding him snug. Dean blushed and smoothly sputtered something, but Cas could only squeeze him, the Macy’s bags banging and snagging together awkwardly.

“I…I have never been this happy before.” Cas confessed quietly into the material of Dean’s jacket.

Dean smiled, but it trembled.

Definitely worth it.


	15. big kid*

When Dean walked into the nurse’s office he instantly spotted Daniel. He was hunched over on a plastic chair, a trash can between his knees, and the most pitiful expression Dean had ever seen on a teenage boy.

“Hey bud, what happened?” Dean said softly, coming in, heading straight for his son who smiled pathetically and then grimaced, curling himself more over the trash can. Dean reached out and put a hand on the back of his neck - he was burning up, though the goosebumps told Dean he was probably freezing in the school’s blasting air conditioner.

Daniel took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut.

“I-I threw up in history…thanks for coming so quick…” he trailed off into a groan and Dean stroked his neck.

“Ok, we’ll get you home…” Dean whispered, scratching lightly at the short hairs at the base of Daniel’s skull.

“Mr. Winchester?” The nurse said from the desk, peering at him sympathetically from behind her reading glasses. She flashed a gentle smile and held up a clipboard. “You just have to sign him out and then he’s all yours.”

Dean nodded and let his hand trail down to Danny’s shoulder, walking briskly to the desk, glancing at Daniel every few seconds as he filled out his signature and the little boxes detailing the time.

“When he comes back just write us a note and we’ll excuse the absence.” She said sweetly, stamping something once Dean had pushed the clipboard across the counter to her. She smiled at Danny as he shakily stood. “Just leave that trash can right there honey, we’ll have the aid take care of it!” She called as Danny put it down with and smiled at her, his lips quivering. He staggered forward and Dean rushed to him, putting an arm around his shoulders, trying not to notice how that shoulder was meeting his own and that their heads were getting close to being level.

“Come on.” Dean said, guiding him out of the nurse’s office and out to the front of the school where the Impala sat by the curb. He helped Danny into the passenger side where he immediately leaned back, opening his mouth, his puffy eyes shutting.

“You need to puke you say the word and I’ll pull over, okay?” Dean said, starting her up with a roar of the engine. Danny nodded vaguely and then cracked his eyes open.

“Shit…my truck.” He said, referring to the frame on wheels Bobby had gifted him for his birthday that year.

“We’ll get it later.” Dean soothed, pulling out onto the main street, heading back to the house. He’d have to call the garage and tell them he had to take off - there was no way he could leave Danny at home by himself and Cas wouldn’t be done until after his office hours.

Blessedly, Danny managed to hold his stomach in until they got home, but as soon as they were though the back door, Danny was racing for the downstairs bathroom and shoving his head in the toilet, Dean following closely at his heels.

“Easy, easy…” Dean said as Daniel began to cry against the porcelain, only pausing to heave into the bowl again. Dean dropped to his knees and rubbed his back, pulling his floppy hair out of his face as Daniel panted and then moaned.

“Oh man…” He gasped, “…oh man I’m sorry I didn’t mean to start crying - fuck…”

Dean smiled and stood up to get a wash cloth from under the sink, running the tap till it was lukewarm. He went back to Daniel and mopped at his face, lifting his chin up in his hand as Danny’s head lolled in palm.

“Any idea where you got this?” Dean grunted, using the dry towel he’d thrown over his shoulder to dry Danny’s face off. Daniel sucked in a shaky breath and stuttered it back out.

“Drew had somethin’…got it from his girl friend or,  _fuck_  -” He shoved Dean weakly off and then threw up again, dry heaving when he’d expelled all there was to give. Dean rubbed between his shoulder blades as Daniel sobbed again, shaking.

“I’m gonna go get you some water with lemon, but you can’t swallow it, ok?” Dean whispered and Daniel nodded vaguely.

“God just get this taste outta my mouth.” He whimpered and Dean went quickly to the kitchen, putting the glass together in record time. He brought it back and Daniel was slumped against the wall, staring up at him blearily. Dean knelt down, even though his knees complained, and handed him the glass, helping it bring it to his mouth.

“Just swish it.” Dean reminded and Daniel did for a few seconds before reaching into the toilet and spitting it out. Dean flushed it and stared at his son, his t-shirt rumpled and his jeans dirty. Daniel leaned his head on the wall and sighed. 

“I feel like shit.” He croaked and Dean reached out to palm his forehead, moving his hair to one side before letting his fingers cup his pale cheek.

“You look like it.” Dean answered and Daniel laughed weakly before clutching his stomach with a whine. Dean touched his shoulder and squeezed it. “Let’s get you upstairs - get you in the tub or something and then I’ll set you up down here, ok?”

“Can I just stay u-upstairs?” Daniel hiccuped, and Dean shrugged.

“If that’s what you wanna do.” Daniel nodded and Dean leaned forward as Daniel slung his arm around his neck like when he was a just a boy.

“Alright little man.” Dean encouraged, supporting his weight as they made their way up to his bathroom, all of his sixteen year old body leaned on Dean’s shoulder and upper arm, shuffling with him down the hall to his bedroom. Once there Dean carefully deposited him inside the adjoining bathroom and started to run the water.

“You ok by yourself?” Dean asked, and he knew he was hovering but couldn’t really stop the question once he had started to worry. Daniel nodded vacantly struggling to pull off his shirt, not saying anything in protest when Dean helped him before he left, cracking the door so he could hear if anything went wrong. Dean jogged downstairs and fetched a steel pot from the kitchen and brought it back to Daniel’s room and putting it down on the floor beside his bed before pulling the unmade covers back and re arranging the pillows so that the mattress somehow resembled a bed and not the strange tangle of blankets it currently was when Daniel woke up that morning. After straightening the sheets he heard Daniel slosh out of the tub and rummaged through his drawers for clean clothes, setting them right inside on the bathroom counter, Daniel currently sitting on the edge of the tub with a towel around his waist.

“You ok?” Dean said, shaking out Daniel’s favorite pajama pants and handing them to him with clean boxers. Daniel remained silent for a moment while he rubbed his hair with another towel.

“Just dizzy.”

“Ok, well, just put this on and then try to sleep. I put a bowl next to your bed, so for god sake’s if you feel like you’re going to be sick do it in there.”

Daniel waved him back out of the room and Dean busied himself with making sure they had saltines and other things that Daniel could keep down later. He found a case of ginger ale in the pantry and opened one up, letting it sit on the counter for a few minutes before taking it to his son. When he walked back into the bedroom, he saw that Danny was sprawled on the bed, and though he looked asleep, he opened one eye against the pillow and huffed as Dean set the can down on his messy bedside table.

“Sip that when you feel you can.” Dean told him, sitting down on the bed, unable to keep himself from touching Daniel’s hair. Daniel groaned back at him and shut his eyes while Dean reached down and placed a kiss on the top of his head. God knew how long it’d been since he’d been able to do something like that without getting glared at. Daniel smiled a little though and Dean smoothed down the back of his t-shirt with the flat of his hand. He had to chuckle when he noticed Daniel had shucked his pants at the foot of the bed, sporting a pair of red boxers that complimented his green lantern shirt quite nicely.

“When’s papa gon’ be back?” Daniel said, Dean stroking the back of his son’s head.

“A couple of hours.”

“Ok.” Daniel sighed, nuzzling into the pillow as Dean patted his back and then stood. He was a step away from the bed when he felt a hand on his wrist and, upon looking  down, saw Daniel holding it with three fingers. He moves his hand down to squeeze Dean’s palm and Dean squeezed it back, the grip comforting.

“Thanks dad.” He muttered, half asleep, as Dean gently guided his hand back to the bed.

“It’s nothing.” Dean whispered, giving him one final once over before leaving.

A few hours past and Daniel remained quiet. When Cas got home he was naturally frantic, machine gunning questions at Dean about what had happened only to rush upstairs and check for himself that Daniel was indeed alive and not in small pieces everywhere. Once he had assured this he spent the rest of the evening worrying over him while Dean fixed dinner for he and Faith and looked after her. 

At around midnight, Cas sat up and Dean, still a sensitive sleeper, jerked with him and looked over at the doorway, unconsciously reaching for a knife.

“Danny?” Cas grumbled, his hair sticking up like the feathers of a cockatoo. Dean focused his eyes and realized it was indeed his son, wrapped in a blanket and looming in the doorway.

“Daniel did you get sick again?”

Daniel shook his head from side to side.

“I can’t sleep.” He croaked and Cas sat up a little more, rubbing the sleep from his eye. Dean saw as Danny shifted from foot to foot before swaying a little, like he was light headed.

“Do you want me to make you some tea?” Cas said, his words muddled, and Daniel shook his head again, taking a step closer. Dean knew what he was doing as soon as he did and Cas seemed to as well, both of them scooting so that there was space in the middle stretched between them. Dean lifted up the cover and Daniel shed his own blanket and climbed over him, knee knocking against Dean’s ribs, but Dean stifled his complaint. Cas pulled the sheets up over Daniel and then Dean lifted the comforter over that, Cas reaching down to pull a pillow off of the floor.

“Here…” He whispered, and Daniel lifted his head, breathing heavily when he settled down onto it. Dean felt as Daniel shifted till his face was pressed up against Dean’s shoulder. Cas put his arm over Danny’s back and scratched it lightly before going still, falling back to sleep almost instantly.

Dean smiled as Daniel sighed.

“Don’t tell monkey…ever.” Daniel whispered and Dean chuckled, closing his eyes. “I love you…more than the moon” Daniel added, rubbing his cheek on Dean’s t-shirt.

“Love you more than the moon.” Dean repeated, falling asleep with the feeling of Daniel’s foot kicking at his, all of the crammed on the bed like sardines. 


	16. bedtime stories*

Dean is supposed to be doing dishes, but instead he is sitting outside his son’s bedroom, listening to the creak of a rocking chair going back and forth.

There’s a soft whimper from where Cas adjusts their baby in his lap, tucking him up in the quilt Missouri sent them and the soft rustle of pages being opened on an old cardboard book.

“Goodnight Moon.” Cas says softly, opening the book, Danny sighing against his Papa’s chest, rustling the soft little baby hairs on his forehead. He kicks his leg restlessly and rolls his head, looking at the pages of the book, lifting a fat infant hand to drag it across the picture.

“ _In the great green room there was a telephone, and a red balloon, and a picture of the cow jumping_ over _the moon_.” Cas reads, rocking them, the movement casting a shadow into the hallway where Dean sits, smiling, eyes closed.

“ _…and there were three little bears in three chairs, and two little kittens, and a pair of mittens._ ” Cas continues, turning a page. Dean’s heart melts as Danny says something, his words garbled and rough from sleepiness and the shadow moves across the wall again as Cas rocks, back and forth.

“Look Danny - see the mittens?” He whispers and Danny chirps again before Cas turns the page once more, his voice deep and slow and even.

“ _And a little toy house, and a_ young _mouse!”_ Cas elaborates, his voice rising a little. The baby sighs again as Cas continues, “ _And a comb, and a brush, and bowl full of mush…_ ” Cas’s words dim as he rocks them, turning another page with a soft drag of his fingers, “ _and a quiet old lady who was whispering ‘hush’!”_

“Ahh?” Danny’s baby voice crooned and Dean knew Cas nodded like he always did, like he always spoke the secret little language.

“Do you see her Danny? She’s telling the baby bunny to hush because it’s time to go to sleep.” Cas explains, and though Dean can’t see he knows it’s Danny and Cas’s very favorite part of the book and that Cas doesn’t even have to look at the words anymore. He leans his cheek into Danny’s hair, his fingers over Danny’s little baby stomach, warm and soft, gently stroking the fleece of his nightie, the baby quilt curled in Danny’s fat fist and his eyes sleepy and glassy as he stares at the pages of the book.

Dean leans his head against the wall and imagines the room as Cas says the words, rocking him and Danny in an endless, soothing, rhythm.

“ _Goodnight room.”_ Cas begins and Dean imagines the bunny tucked into bed, the old woman and the crackling fire and the stars shining in through the curtains.

“ _Goodnight moon…goodnight cow jumping over the moon.”_

 _“Goodnight light…goodnight balloon. Goodnight bears and goodnight chairs.”_ Cas’s voice is thoughtful now, and hushed, probably because he’s pressing small little kisses to Danny’s hair as he speaks, his words only broken as he turns the pages to show Danny the pictures.

“ _Goodnight kittens, and goodnight mittens.”_  the rocking chair rocks, “ _Goodnight clocks, and goodnight socks…”_

Dean’s favorite part is coming up, the part where Cas’s voice gets so soft that it’s like every word is a brush against the air, the most soothing, wonderful, intimate thing, laced with love and gentleness that makes it almost unfathomable that he was a warrior of God for milleniums on end. One who chose to give that up and rock Dean’s baby and read him stories at night. 

“ _Goodnight little house, and goodnight mouse…goodnight comb, and goodnight brush, goodnight nobody!”_ Cas pauses and Danny makes a little tiny noise, the turn of a page, “ _…goodnight mush._ ”

Dean takes a deep even breath in time with Cas as Cas begins to whisper, Danny surely so close to falling asleep but barely able to keep his eyes open.

“ _And goodnight to the old lady whispering…”_  Cas’s voice whispers 'hush’ into Danny’s ear, as he always does.

 _“goodnight stars…_ ” a stop for a kiss.

“ _and goodnight air…_ ”

“ _goodnight, voices, everywhere…”_

Cas closes the book and Dean hears him slide it onto the table next to the rocking chair, but Cas doesn’t stop. He’s holding Daniel and staring at the window over Danny’s crib, watching the stars wink at him from beyond the dark blue curtains, content to hold Danny’s warm, sleeping little form in his arms for as long as he can. He stays that way for a few more moments and then stands, and Dean hears him shift Danny and then move to the crib, rustling the blankets as he slips Danny in among them, the baby noises and little whine as Danny immediately turns onto his stomach and folds his legs up under him.

There is a long moment of silence as Cas stands over the crib and marvels before Dean opens his eyes to their dimly lit hallway and hears Cas’s final message to their sleeping son.

“Goodnight, little bird.” Cas whispers, and then he bends to kiss him one last time.


	17. thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rated S for Spicy ;)

They said that your second child was supposed to be easier, but Dean really wished someone would give their daughter the memo. Faith, while usually a dream, was the most unpredictable sleeper he’d ever met. Some nights she went straight down and stayed down, but others, especially as of late, she’d taken to screaming instead.

Which made for a very, very, wrung-out Cas. Most days he slept in the nursery, on the floor next to Faith’s crib in the hopes that he could calm her before her whimpering escalated to full scale wailing.

For four days it had been this way, and by that Thursday, Cas was at his breaking point and Dean knew that he would need to do something and do it fast or Cas was going to end up throwing the bitch fit of the century.

Luckily, Dean knew the exact recipe for diffusing the wrath of an ex soldier-of-God-Almighty:

  * children in bed before 9
  * and a healthy helping of chocolate flavored body paint



Mix thoroughly and take of your clothes, spread yourself on the bed, and wait for Cas to finish brushing his damn teeth, and brother, you’ve got yourself one heck of a dessert.

Which is exactly what Dean was doing - well, waiting for Cas to finish brushing his teeth. Soon enough, Cas had flipped the light off in the bathroom and came padding out into their bedroom he stopped and stared at Dean, mouth falling open.

“What are you doing?” He asked and Dean sat up on the bed, crosslegged and held up the chocolate frosting.

“Something  _very_  nice.” Dean laughed, grinning, and Cas’s eyebrows fell as he came closer. He popped the top off of the girly ass packaging and unsealed the container, glancing up at Cas as he did so. Cas had crept closer, hesitating on the edge of the bed with curious eyes before finally slipping forward and taking the container out of Dean’s hand. He tugged the cord on the bedside lamp and read the side quickly, his eyebrows shooting up with every word. 

Dean smirked.

“Well? Did I do good?” He asked, putting a hand on Cas’s knee and slipping it up over his thigh. He pinched the knit material of Cas’s pajama shorts in between his fingers and snapped it against Cas’s leg while Cas looked inside the tub and then cautiously stuck his finger in it. Dean impatiently watched as he swiped out some chocolate and then stuck it in his mouth, staring at the side still. He sucked his finger thoughtfully and then licked his lip, lifting his gaze, letting his finger trail against his lower lip

He smiled.

“You did good.” He nodded, and then, after another moment of considering Dean’s face, shook his head, starting to laugh. He sat up and walked forward on his knees, and Dean, getting the hint, laid back down on the bed till Cas was comfortably situated on his hips, leg on either side of Dean, staring down at him, eyes sparking playfully. “You did very good Mr. Winchester.” He murmured, bending down to kiss Dean briefly before withdrawing to dip his finger in again. Dean made a frustrated noise, not eager to lose the taste of chocolate he was just getting into on Cas’s tongue, but then he was too busy jerking as Cas dotted his chocolate-covered finger twice on Dean’s middle. Craning his neck, Dean watched as Cas painted a very large and indelicately drawn smiley face on Dean’s stomach, the swipe of its mouth laid out sinfully close to the waistband of his boxers, in the taught dip between Dean’s hipbones.

“Jesus.” Dean whispered, pushing his head back down onto the covers, stretching his legs out

“Just me, I’m afraid…” Cas joked, earning a laugh from Dean as he shifted, relishing the pull of he and Dean’s hips against each other in a casual brush. He considered where to go next for a few moments and then leaned forward. “Here…” He said, and he dipped his finger in again and then carefully penned ‘C-A-S’ across Dean’s chest, his finger lingering over where he could feel Dean’s heartbeat and the stretch of his skin as he breathed. 

“So you don’t forget.” Cas whispered, eyes darkened, but sweet. Dean watched as Cas bent over him, trying not to smudge his work, and drew things on Dean’s cheeks.

“Whiskers?” Dean said and Cas dotted chocolate on the tip of Dean’s nose.

Cas looked down at Dean, and Dean could tell he was trying not to laugh and failing miserably.

“It was the only thing I could think of…” Cas bit, stifling a noise before he started to really get into it, his sides shaking. Dean laughed too, both of them stupidly staring at each other, Cas’s eyes squeezing shut and his lips curling back over his teeth, grinning into the laugh. He rested the back of his hand against his forehead, to cover his eyes, unable too look at Dean’s chocolate cat face without falling to pieces all over.

“Sorry.” Cas bleated as they calmed down, wiping his eyes, successfully smudging chocolate right under the curve of his lower lashes. Dean touched his wrist.

“Kiss me.” He said, tugging, and Cas complied. They kissed for a few minutes, Cas holding the chocolate sauce in one hand, the other on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing it as they rolled their tongues lazily into one another’s mouths.

Cas drew back after a moment and trailed his lips up to kiss the tip of Dean’s nose and then nip it playfully before sitting up and pulling off his shirt. Dean smiled in approval and Cas rolled his eyes before shaking his hair out of the collar and tossing it behind him where it fell to the floor, forgotten.

Then Dean didn’t really have much time to do much thinking because Cas was laving his tongue over Dean’s skin, erasing his work with more finesse then was probably necessary.

“Mmm.” Cas hummed, when he paused halfway over the ’s’ in his name and mouthed at Dean’s collar bone and then dragged his tongue down again, scraping teeth over Dean’s nipple.

Then it was the two dots right under his ribcage, and Dean’s boxers were already getting tight, his arousal pressing against Cas’s belly where he had slid down, snaking himself between Dean’s legs so that he could work more effectively on his torso.

Dean inhaled and Cas bit his side and Dean blew out the air, tossing his arm over his eyes, arching.

“Cas.” Dean exhaled, but Cas didn’t say anything, merely busied himself with trailing down to the slash of the smile down right at the edge of Dean’s stomach.

Cas pulled the edge of his boxers back and Dean lifted his arm to stare as Cas slowly pulled his tongue from hip bone to hip bone, agonizingly slow.

Dean bucked up, and in Cas’s intention to hold him still, he ended up forgetting how loose his own grip on the tub of chocolate was.

“Oh  _FUCK_!” Cas  yelled suddenly, yanking his hand back, but the damage was done. It had been tipping in his hand and the sauce had oozed out on to the covers and even some of the sheets where they’d been bunched up (Dean and Cas were bad about making their bed).

“Shit,  _shit_!” Cas cried, scrambling off of Dean, putting the tub of chocolate down on the bedside table. Dean groaned and then sat up, trying to placate Cas who was fuming.

“I’m an idiot.” Cas grit, “Should have put a fucking sheet down…” He was pulling pillows off of the bed and flinging them to the floor, and then he glared at Dean. Dean reacted fast, nearly jumping forward.

“Hey, hey, it’s not a big deal!” Dean said, trying to soothe him. In the light from their table lamp Dean could see the bags under Cas’s eyes - deep purple and lasting. He tugged at Cas’s waistband and kissed his bare stomach. “Hey.” He said lowly, and Cas bent down and rested his forehead on Dean’s head for a few seconds before straightening.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Cas moaned, scraping hands over his face before slapping them down at his sides. “Ok, we have to get these in the washer or that stain will set and we will never get it out.”

“Ok.” Dean said tiredly, standing up and helping Cas to peel off the sheets and then gather the comforter up into his arms, following Cas downstairs.

They were met at the top of the landing by a little boy in baseball pj’s scrubbing at his face.

“Hey, what are you doing up?” Dean demanded, Cas having scooted downstairs. Danny rubbed at his eyes and stared at his dad with all his four year old face muddled in confusion.

“What’re you and papa doin with dose blankets?” Danny drawled, still half asleep, squinting “Are you guys having a sleepover?”

Dean shook his head and reached out his foot to prod his son.

“We’re building a fort and you’re not invited -  now you get back to your room right now. Hustle.” Dean said, dropping his foot back to the ground and moving closer to corral Danny back towards his room.

“Why are you in your underwear?” Danny slurred, going back into his dark room.

“Bed.” Dean whispered. “Come on, bed. I said  _hustle_  Danny, no monkey business.”

“Dean we’ve got to get that comforter in the wash.” Cas said, appearing at the doorway to Danny’s room. Danny was halfway to his bed when he turned.

“Where’s your shirt?”

“Danny, I said  _bed_.”

“Daddy you got  _stuff_ on you!” Danny whined. “I wanna play!”

“Daniel Johnathan Winchester you get in that bed right now, mister.” Cas hissed, coming forward to take the comforter out of Dean’s arms to dissapear down the hall with it.

Danny whimpered and Dean shook his head and went forward to yank back his covers and help him in bed.

“Go to sleep Danny.” He whispered, softer than before, watching his son pout. Dean reached down and picked up Danny’s stuffed puppy dog where it had fallen out of his bed and held it in front of his face.

“I’m sleepy, Danny. We can play tomorrow.” He said with as much doggish inflection as he could. Danny reached for the toy and tucked it into his elbow, staring at Dean with his eyes half open.

“Good night little bird.” Dean said, the same way he and Cas had been saying it since he was a baby. “Love you more than the moon.”

“Love you more than the moon.” Danny mumbled, turning over, the dog shoved under his chin. Dean kissed his son’s ear and then eased out of the room, shutting the door as quietly as he could behind him.

Cas was curled up under their old sheet and blanket set when Dean got to his room and as Dean slid in beside him, Cas pulled him until he was resting on top, covering Cas’s body with his.

“I put it in cold water to soak it can wait till tomorrow.” Cas said, exhausted, and Dean kissed him in between the words.

“Sorry it didn’t work out.” Dean whispered and Cas shrugged against him.

“It’s not a big deal - ” Cas paused and wormed his hands up to wipe at Dean’s cheeks. “  - hold still baby, you’ve got chocolate on your face still.” He whispered, each word thick and drowsy with Dean’s body heat, the endearment slipping out like a silk ribbon between his teeth that Dean had tugged off of his tongue.

“We’ll try again this weekend. Get Sam to take Danny or something…” Dean suggested, emphasizing the point with a kiss at Cas’s neck.

“I could get behind that.” Cas muttered, sighing at the feeling. “I had - ah - ” He paused as Dean got him right in that spot where his jaw curved strongly upwards. That was Dean’s favorite part, those little erogenous places no one but him would ever know about. “ - plans.” Cas sighed, as Dean kissed him on the mouth again, and again, and again, until Cas’s eyes closed and his breathing evened out.

Dean slid halfway off of him and watched Cas fall into sleep, his mouth going open, his eyes slipping around under his eyelids in dreams. He sighed and whined and Dean kissed his shoulder and then smoothed his fingers over the hair right over his ear.

“Ain’t we a pair.” He whispered, sitting up to reach over and turn off the light. He pulled the remote towards him and flicked on the tv, laying next to Cas, not moving when Cas rolled over onto him and sleep talked something unintelligible, his nose smushed into Dean’s chest, an arm thrown lazily over Dean in a loose, clinging, hug.


	18. la vie en rose

“Thank you, Sam.” Castiel says with a content smile, staring at the record in his lap. “Very much.” His long, slim, fingers run over the edge of the records sleeve and the slight jut of the black vinyl cresting out of the top.

“No problem, Cas.” Sam replies, smiling himself, “I mean, it’s not like,  _rare_  or anything - it’s a pretty famous song…”

“It is absolutely what I wanted, Sam.” Castiel assures, still running his hands over the cover, the wrapping paper beneath it crinkling as he shifts his knees. Dean watches the exchange warily from behind his coffee mug. They are huddled in  _their_  house, celebrating their third Christmas together. Cas is in his favorite straight-backed chair positioned strategically where he can stare at the tree, but close enough to his bookcase so that his precious tomes are never out of reach. Now though, he’s absorbed in the record and Sam looks proud, leaning back on the couch beside his older brother. He feels Dean’s stare after a moment and looks to him, brow knotting together.

“What?” He whispers, shrugging. Dean shrugs himself, drinking his coffee again, but as he goes to sip he makes sure his brother hears him.

“Just don’t see why you and Cas always have to be into that sissy crap.”

“It’s not  _sissy_  Dean - are you really going to start this? At Christmas?” Sam says, and Dean is already irritated at his tone. How the fuck his brother manages to sound so self righteous is beyond him. “It’s classy.” Sam finishes, frankly, looking to Castiel who is blinking at them.

“Is something wrong, Dean?” Castiel probes, and Dean snorts, picking up a cookie off the plate centered on their coffee table. He spits crumbs as he speaks, and relishes Sam’s disgusted expression.

“Nothing’s wrong. Just Sam’s continuing mission to turn you into an absolute fruit cake.” He gestures at the record and Castiel looks down at it and then back up at Dean.

“Dean, that’s so stupid. Why would you  _even_  say that.” Sam growls, crossing his arms. “You’re just jealous because Cas didn’t put my present down after two seconds.”

It all dissolves into a grumbling match and Castiel is still minorly confused, but he makes amends by passing Dean one of his presents and smiling at him. Dean really doesn’t know why he got so annoyed though. Probably because Sam’s right - that kind of shit  _is_  classy, and Dean’s never been a  _classy_ sort of guy. They forget by dinner, but that night, as Cas huffs lightly beside him, fat on ham, Dean can’t shake the irksome feeling.

He doesn’t even know how to pronounce the name of the song on the record let alone heard of it, but Cas had looked so  _enchanted_  with it - something Dean hadn’t been able to provide. Cas had really liked his presents too, but he hadn’t stared at them like he did that record.

He falls asleep with a headache from too much champagne and a sigh.

The next day it snows, but Sam had gone back to his nice apartment the night before, beating the clogged roads. Their plans of visiting him botched, Cas and Dean sleep off their dinner and finish the dishes, not getting dressed till after noon and a long hot shower that ends up being a tandem affair, Dean cracking his skull on the tile wall as Castiel delivers a ‘late gift’ between his legs. 

It’s almost enough to make Dean drop the issue entirely.

That is, until he’s putting away the 'good china’ which, believing he’d ever have 'good china’ would be like asking him if he believed in Santa at age fifty, and he hears the sound of Cas dragging out the record player that Bobby gifted to him, and the groan and crackle of the needle on the vinyl.

The woman’s voice he hears next is warbling and diffused by the distance of the rooms. Dean feels the plate he’s holding start to drift back onto the counter as he listens to the music. It’s a tune he’s heard before, though he would never guess what it was. Probably something he’s heard in a movie or in a luxury car commercial. Whatever it is, it’s a lot better than what Dean had expected. The sliding strings supporting her voice almost make him think of the gentle hum of that Led Zep song he likes… Rain Song? Yeah. That one.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Dean wanders into the living room where the Cas is standing in the center of the room. His chin rests in the palm of his hand, the other crossed over his stomach. From the side Dean can see his eyes are slightly squinted in the direction of the stereo cabinet, blinking every so often at the record spinning on the table.

“Hey, you ok?” Dean says gently, not wanting to raise his voice too much over the lilting music. Cas spins on him, looking surprised.

“Oh…” He breathes, gripping his own elbows in his shock, and he shakes his dark-hair out, a piece falling over his forehead. “Oh, no. I was just listening.” He looks back at the record and Dean realizes his face isn’t exactly excited-looking.

“Is it not a good song?” Dean continues, stepping nearer, both of them watching the needle and the record.

“Oh no, it’s wonderful.” Cas confides, shifting towards Dean. He presses his lips together afterwords though, which doesn’t convince Dean at all. Dean touches his shoulder, the record still spilling it’s sound into their snow-hushed house.

It’s dark, and the single lamp in the corner doesn’t do much for the room.

Cas doesn’t look at Dean but tilts his head, expression shifting from serious to a shadow of sorrow.

“I used to be able to speak french.” He clenches the fingers on his arms. “I can hardly remember any of it anymore…I could speak every language known on this earth.” He sighs. “But now, I couldn’t tell you what the words she says are. Not even a little.”

Dean listens to the satiny sound of the french syllables in the song.

“Then why ask Sam for it?” Dean insists, his grip loosening. Cas seems to ponder this for a long time, and then, finally, a smile surfaces. He looks at Dean as if all the answers should be obvious, which they never are.

“Because, I like it far more now, that I don’t know what she’s saying.”

Dean frowns at this explanation. Castiel turns fully to him and takes one of Dean’s loose hands. He stares at it.

“It’s strange to me…I would have thought I could resent it, but, now, I understand so much more what this song is about.”

“Which is?”

“Love.” Castiel looks up at Dean’s eyes. “How it paints a different kind of picture to an individual’s life. Gives them…how do you say it, an different perception of reality. One that is more 'optimistic’.”

“All that in this song?”

“I had to look up the translated texts, but yes.”

Cas smiles, and Dean tries to understand it, but it’s difficult. Castiel gets so lost in his own head sometimes that nothing seems to translate. Cas goes to the record and fuddles with it. He turns over his shoulder and comes to Dean who looks down in surprise as Cas slips his arms around his waist and presses his cheek to Dean’s shoulder. Dean automatically returns the embrace but doesn’t anticipate the slow turning that Cas initiates. They go in tiny circles over the same spot on the rug - it can’t even count as dancing. The record plays and Cas breaths over Dean’s collarbone.

“It’s like this…more, or less.” Cas says softly and Dean listens to the sound of the woman’s voice. He hears it, in the waver of her tone, the melody that is so familiar but not, but more so in the press of Castiel’s body.

“I realized that it isn’t about the words so much.” Cas murmurs, “When she sings I think about you. I know she is singing about love…” He trails off and Dean slips his hands to Cas’s hips, rocking as they turn.

“…I hear it. It’s the way I would sing about you.” Cas finishes. Dean goes quiet, letting the record play, swaying with Cas in their dark living room.

Cas hums along with the record and Dean holds him closer, brushing their foreheads together. He closes his eyes, tries to hear the song the way that Cas does.

He hears it, in those strings, in the catch of Cas’s sweater on his thumb. Dean can’t express himself the way Cas or Sam can. He doesn’t know the first thing about Edith Pilaf or La Vie En Rose, but he gets what Cas means.

You can hear it - what she’s singing about. The record stops and they stop too until Dean let’s Cas go.

“Play it again, Cas.” Dean says softly, green eyes glowing in the dark, “Play it again. I’m trying to listen to it…like, you know…”

Cas says nothing but resets the record and then refolds himself against Dean.

“It’s not about trying to understand it, it’s listening to what’s already there.” Cas assures. He dissolves back into his humming, and that’s when it clicks. Dean feels the vibrations from Cas’s voice sift into his own.

The way he looked at that record was the way he looked at  _him_  every time he got the chance. Enthralled. Happy. Thoughtful.

Swaying together in the living room.

That’s what it’s about.


	19. happy halloween*

“Pillowcase?”

“CHECK!” Daniel roars and Dean fights the smile that’s threatening to break out over his face, because this is serious business. He’s talking to a  _shark_  here. Well, a semblance of a shark – there are eyes and a fin on the hood of his gray hoody and a tail that juts awkwardly off the back, but for all intents and purposes, he’s speaking to a very hungry, candy-craving, shark under a winter coat.

“Ok, then.” Dean nods, looking his son straight in the eye, “I think you’re ready for Halloween, little man.”

Daniel does a strange kind of flailing dance and then jumps up and down in excitement on his way to the front door, rattling the knob in frustration when he finds it locked. Dean sighs, getting ready for the annual marathon of houses, and clicks the lock.

“WAIT, WAIT!” Cas yells, coming into the room, Faith slung over one shoulder, a camera on the other. “Pictures, pictures!” He says this while handing Faith over to Dean who takes her with surprise, smiling at his daughter-turned-ballerina for the occasion.

“Where are her shoes?”

“She keeps undoing the ribbon so I just took them off.” Cas says blandly, smiling at Faith who raises her arms to him, making little squealing noises.

“No, stay with Daddy I’m taking your picture.” He tells her, raising the camera to his eye, swiping the air with his hand at Daniel.

“Papa  _come onnnn_!” Daniel whines and Cas sticks his tongue out at his son behind the camera.

“Just two or three Danny I promise.” He swears, and Dean grabs Daniel and pulls him in against his leg.

“Two or three or a  _hundred_.” Daniel gripes, crossing his arms.

“Make your scariest shark face!” Cas directs and Daniel continues his pout before moving his hands up in claws. Dean laughs into the smile he’s got going for Cas’s Nikon. He’s not sure that’s exactly correct, but Daniel pulls it off well, his face twisted in a sneer, teeth bared.

“IMMA SHARK!” He rumbles in his lowest voice and Cas laughs, the flash going off and making Faith blink dazedly.

Cas takes five more and then calls it quits, receiving Faith from a content-looking Dean.

“Make sure he holds your hand crossing streets,” Cas reminds him, “and go to the door with him, and make sure he doesn’t get any of that unwrapped candy.”

“I got this, Cas!” Dean replies, shaking his head, kissing Cas firmly on the mouth , one hand on either side of his head to keep him from talking anymore, before he closes the door behind a Daniel who has already made it to the end of their driveway. Cas follows, standing in the chilly air, bouncing Faith on his hip.

“Wave bye bye!” He tells her and she shakes her hand limply up and down and Dean turns to wave to her too, making her shriek with infant joy.

“COME ON DADDY!” Daniel all but screams, looking at the streams of kids trickling down the streets in the dusky light, most with homemade costumes that speak of late night sewing for their satisfied looking mother’s.

They trick-or-treat for two hours, going all the way to the back of the neighborhood, and by the end of it, Daniel’s pillowcase is fat with candy and his feet are dragging.

“You cold?” Dean asks, rubbing his own hands over each other before he sticks them in his pockets. The night has settled in and the stars blink down at them, and the wind has picked up, raking against their cheeks and noses.

Daniel nods.   
  
“Yeah.”

“Well, your Papa said something about hot cider and donuts earlier, so you think that sounds like a good idea?” They’re halfway back home now and Daniel nods excitedly.

“Yeah! Can we watch ‘The Great Pumpkin’ Charlie Brown?” He says too, taking a bit of Dean’s coat in his little fingers. Dean raises his eyebrows.

“Again?”

“I like the part where Snoopy comes out from the pumpkin and it goes “WOOOOOO!” Daniel explains, crouching in the street and mimicking the sight while emulating the high pitched whistle that accompanies the action. He laughs at himself and Dean does too, ruffling his hair, pushing back the shark hood.

“That’s my favorite part too.” Dean adds and Daniel nods.

“That’s because it’s  _the best part_.”

“Totally.”

They get to the door, but Daniel has convinced Dean to let him ride on his shoulders even though he’s getting way too big for that. Dean doesn’t mind though. It isn’t every day he gets to carry a shark like a sack of potatoes over the threshold of their house, having swung Daniel over his shoulder as they went up the drive.

Daniel is crying with laughter when they walk in to where Cas is seated on the floor, occupying Faith with “The Witch Has An Itch”, in the living room. He looks up at them and grins.

“Go well?” He says and Faith looks over her rounded shoulder to gaze at them with big brown eyes.

“IT WAS AWESOME!” Daniel announces, holding up his pillowcase and Cas shakes his head.

“You boys cold? I made cider and donuts.” He says, standing and Daniel plops down beside his sister.

“Faith, now we gotta’ sort this. I’ll show you.”

“DAAAAAAAAA!” Faith gurgles good-naturedly, and Daniel nods at her in approval.

“That sounds great.” Dean answers for all of them, following Cas into the kitchen. “Danny you keep an eye on her, don’t let her eat any of that – she could choke.”

“Kay!” Daniel says, already shoving a snickers into his mouth. “Faith, stop, that’s no!” Daniel say sternly, taking a twix from his sister’s small hands and putting it in the pile he’s allotted.

Cas is arranging donuts on a plate and pulling the cider out of the microwave, dancing on the balls of his feet.

“Hot, hot don’t touch it!” Cas says automatically, putting it on the counter and Dean smiles, pulling a donut off the tray to eat one, thick and cakey and warm.

“Dean, come on, wait a minute?” Cas pleads, taking the potholders to the glass container of cider to distribute it out in three cups, Faith’s cold and put separately.

“Sorry!” Dean snickers between bites, licking his fingers when he’s done. Cas shakes his head and jerks his head towards the living room.

“Could you round up the company?” He suggests, carrying the plate towards the table and Dean takes it from him.

“Let em’ eat in there. It’s Halloween.”

“Faith’s going to get crumbs everywhere…”

“I’ll clean it up. Danny wants to watch “The Great Pumpkin” anyway and he can’t do that from the kitchen. It won’t hurt anything, Cas.” Dean puts on his best convincing face and Cas sighs, not able to stand up to it.

“I’m holding you to that. The cleaning up bit.” Cas says, brushing past Dean who is grabbing extra paper towels, as he goes into the living room, sitting down on the floor to help Daniel sort his candy.

“Here Papa, you can have the sweettarts you like those.” Daniel tells Cas proudly, pushing the pile of brightly wrapped candies towards him. Cas smiles and puts them on the table beside him, saving one to open at the moment. He crunches the candy thoughtfully and smiles.

“Thank you, angel.” Cas says in response and Daniel goes back to sorting his candy, only looking up when Dean puts down their food and starts fiddling with the DVD player.

“GREAT PUMPKIN?” Daniel shouts, making Cas’s eyes widen.

“Inside voices, Danny!” He reminds as Faith stands up and toddles to him, collapsing into his lap with brightly colored candy to shove into his hands. “Yes, thank you!” Castiel redirects, taking the candy and putting it back up on the table. Faith sits on his knees and stares at him, still holding more candy to offer and Cas takes it all, eyebrows raising. “Thank you Faith, yes, thank you.”

She sighs, satisfied and then settles against him, a finger going into her mouth.

Dean laughs and sits down, his back against the couch, helping when Daniel flies up from his spot on the floor to sit on his lap, landing right on his stomach.

“Daddy, we gotta do our favorite part together, ok?” Daniel commands and Dean nods.

“Of course little man.” He says, clicking play on the menu screen, listening to the familiar jazzy piano of the Peanuts gang as the movie starts.

They eat their donuts on a spread of paper towels, even though crumbs still get on the carpet and stick to Faith’s mouth, but it’s worth it to do Daniel’s favorite part with him and see him laugh so hard he nearly chokes.

It takes Cas thirty minutes to get Daniel to take off his shark costume, but luckily, Faith is an easy task, asleep before Dean has even finished zipping her up into her pajamas. Daniel insists on a spooky story being read to him, but he’s asleep halfway through the book, his mouth slack and his body twisted around Cas’s so he has to almost shake himself loose, slipping the book back on the bookshelf and turning on the star light that rotates slowly, spreading little lights on the walls.

The last trick-or-treaters amble away a little past ten thirty, a group of older kids who Dean gives the rest of their candy too, dumping it unevenly into their open bags. They look on in awe as he gets the second bowl and gives it to them too. Cas turns off the porch light and picks up a candy wrapper and the sweettarts off the table as Dean clicks off the TV and then vacuums up the crumbs beside the couch.

Dean kisses Cas who tastes like sweettarts and cider in the kitchen where he sets the rest of the donuts in a plastic bag for tomorrow morning.

“I like this costume on you.” Dean says and Castiel furrows his brow.

“I didn’t dress up this year.” He admits, “Got too busy.”

Dean kisses his nose.

“I meant this whole ‘you love me I love you thing’ we’ve got going on.” He smiles, “You work it well.”

Cas snorts and wraps arms around Dean’s neck before staring deeply into his eyes.

“You know, I think we’ve got it wrong.” He replies quietly, “I think all the time before we were wearing costumes. Now we are just us.”

Dean thinks about this.

“Smarty-pants.” He teases, kissing him again.

“Happy Halloween.”

“Happy Halloween, Dean.”


	20. stutter (pwp)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rated S for Spicy ;)

Dean hates leaving on trips with Sammy, but now that they kind of have a smaller human in their charge, someone has to stay behind. Daniel is asleep in his crib, finally calmed down after seeing his Daddy for the first time in a week, and now Dean can focus on some very  _important_  matters.

Maybe it’s because of all the unnecessary touching that Castiel has been doing since got home – the hands on his arms, on his back, a thigh, a knee here or there – but he’s been formulating a few ideas since dinner that weren’t exactly appropriate for conversation with a two year old. Leave it to Castiel to make everything appear an accident, but Dean knows better. Oh, how he  _knows_.

The bedroom door is open, and he can hear Castiel rustling around inside and the TV is on some news station, but Dean isn’t paying attention. He’s turning to see Castiel in one of the white button downs he puts under his sweaters, open and hanging off of him , and, god help him, just those little jockey briefs he wears. Dean watches as Castiel definitely notices he’s in the room and stops slouching through the drawer he’s bent over and straightens, raising up on the balls of his feet, back arching backwards in a cat-like stretch. He eyes Dean sideways, the picture of innocence.

“Can you shut the door?”

Dean reaches around and has to actively resist slamming it closed, but somehow manages to get it to make barely a sound. Castiel is stretching his arms now; chest pulled open and the shirt still hanging off of him, and stares at the TV, like he’s  _interested_  in the reporter onscreen. Dean just gets to stand there and drink it in as he rotates his pale neck, the way his hair is a little mussed and Dean feels himself twitch, wanting to very much be a part of this little demonstration of Castiel’s flexibility. Castiel feels the look and just blinks, eyelashes fluttering around those baby blues, doe-eyed, at Dean.

“What?” He asks, still stretching, those briefs hugging all the right places.

“You fucking tease.” and Castiel’s expression betrays nothing as Dean starts making for him, trying to grab those pale wrists, knock him back against the bed, rip the duvet off, or maybe just keep it on, he doesn’t give a shit. Castiel sidesteps him, easily, and Dean grits his teeth in a dangerous smile, empty handed.

“Dean, I think you’re projecting again” He says as he ‘lazily’ begins to dip his fingers just barely beneath the waistband of the charcoal underwear, skimming the very top, like he’s scratching an itch or something. Every inch of it is on purpose and Dean can feel the disdainful laugh and the way his tongue is skirting at his teeth, trying to lock up all the things just fighting to come out of his mouth. He wants to say he’s going to fuck the look right off of Castiel’s face.

“Projecting, huh?” Dean growls and then he reaches out and this time, Castiel gets caught. Dean sits down on the bed, Castiel between his legs, but Castiel seems to have other ideas as he slides on top of him, one leg over each of Dean’s,  arms up around his neck  pulling them flush.

“It’s becoming a problem.” Castiel’s voice is low and Dean let’s his throat open up in a groan as Castiel dips his head down. They kiss, and it’s all tugs and tongue and nips, and Dean’s never complained about the sex, but it hasn’t been like this in a good three months. He hasn’t been this worked up, this  _hot_  for Cas, in quite some time, and it’s not that teenage hot, it’s the slow-burning kind of hot, the kind that will drive a man to madness, make him do  _bad_  things.

“You think about me?”  He breathes, suddenly needing to know, and Castiel ignores it, kissing, and snakes his tongue around in Dean’s mouth, lips plying over his, and Dean let’s his hands fall down to his ass, gripping in a squeeze and Castiel hikes himself up, his front scraping on Dean’s abs.

“Oh.” Castiel gasps and Dean does it again, working at his neck, Castiel hissing, shifting around. Dean can almost hear his toes curling on the carpet as he squirms. 

“I asked you a question.” He grits between Castiel’s jaw and his pulse point. “Did you think about me?” Castiel moans again, louder. “I bet you did…” He rolls his lips over the alabaster neck, “…lying here wanting me, huh?”

There’s a snap as Dean pushes his hands down into those briefs, the fabric tight on his knuckles, still kneading at Cas’s ass. It’s a good ass. A  _great_  ass.

“You like that baby?”

“Dean.” Castiel croaks, fingers scrambling, raking through Dean’s short hair. Dean digs his nails into Cas’s skin and Castiel rocks forward on his lap, the air hot around them, the TV still casting a blue-white glow on their dim bedroom. Dean knows he couldn’t imagine the stiff drag of something on his stomach if he tried, but he doesn’t have to, and it just turns him up that much more.

“Lying here lonely…all alone, and I bet you wanted me, couldn’t  _sleep,_ huh.”

“Projecting.” Is all Castiel breathes, and they kiss again, teeth clacking, and Castiel takes his hands out of Dean’s hair long enough to strip himself of the button down, working hands up Dean’s t-shirt. Dean’s breath hitches and Castiel doesn’t stop, clawing and palming over his stomach, his hipbones, his chest. “You act,” He starts, sounding horny and pissed, “like you don’t lie there – !”

Dean jerks up, their hips meeting. There’s a brief moment of thought that Dean will regret this tomorrow morning when he walks Faith to school, but the moment is very  _very_  brief because he’s being pushed and his shoulders meet the bed. Cas’s hands slip the t-shirt off and Dean grunts as it works over his head and then flies across the bed, hitting the far wall and out of sight. They don’t talk too much after that, just huffing, and Dean grabs Castiel’s hips now, kneading along the jutting line of his bones. They are both hard and Dean’s starting to get frustrated with his jeans, shimmying under Castiel.

“W-wait…just wait.” Cas says, unbuttoning them for Dean, sliding the zipper down, palm raking over the growing bulge in Dean’s boxers. “Impatient…” He kisses Dean again as the jeans kick off the end of Dean’s feet. They kiss for a long time, tongues sliding over one another’s until Dean cants his hips just as Cas does and Cas lifts full off of Dean’s chest, rocking back, spine arched.

“Fuck.” Cas whispers, “Fuck.”

They rut together, jagged and disjointed for a moment before they fall back into an inhumanly precise rhythm. Dean doesn’t let it last though – he knows Cas, and Cas is smart. Cas knows all the angles to their sex life, every button to push to make it quick and fast. He leaves it to Dean to be the one to slow things down – he doesn’t have the tact that Dean does in the bedroom: he’s all instinct, all gratification, all  _now now now_.

_How am I gonna get you off as hard and quick as I can because I want it and you want it and I want you to want it…_

“Yeah.” Dean rasps back, lifting a leg and swinging Castiel down onto the duvet, knocking pillows off. They kiss like that, Castiel under him, and Dean’s got his hand back in Castiel’s shorts, sucking down the gasp Cas produces when he closes around him for the first time in a week. He jerks his fingers over Cas’s straining cock in an achingly slow stroke, watching as Cas writhes under him, well on his way to undone.

“Feel that…” Dean tells him, “…fuck I missed you…wanted….” Cas shakes his head when Dean gives a well-timed  _twist_.

“ _DEAN._ ” Cas hisses, because he gets so  _frustrated_. Dean’s thumb slides up to rub the sensitive skin just at the head of his dick and Cas hitches up, stutters, the words dying at the back of his throat. Oh he hates Dean. Hates him bad, hates him horribly, stupid teasing son of a bitch. Leaves and comes back and thinks he can just do whatever the  _fuck he wants_.

He must say the last part out loud, because Dean is laughing at him, sexy and careless.

“ _Oh_ , but baby you  _let_  me.” He whispers on the side of Cas’s neck. Cas knows it’s true – he could get off on Dean’s voice. He has a couple of times.

“You wanted it  _bad_.” Dean says hotly against his neck, “Hot as fuck Cas the way you want it…”

Cas rocks against him, cast into a fever, his head thrown back. He’s a horrible liar.

“Fuuuuuuuck.” He says, long and rumbling, his hand on Dean’s wrist. “Yes.” He opens his eyes, bright blue ringing the thick black of his pupil, locking them on Dean’s. “Mmmm.” He mewls, “Yes, Dean.”

Dean eats up the encouragement like it’s presented on a silver spoon, dipping his mouth back to Cas’s, his hand still moving so slow that Cas is starting to squirm. Cas gives in though, after a moment, his body going limp and lax except for the scratch of his nails on Dean’s wrist as he works him. Cas tilts his chin back, Dean pressing reverent kisses right below. There’s another breathless kiss and Cas moves his hand up Dean’s arm.

“I missed you.” He concedes, and Dean takes the cue. He works his hand up and down and kisses Cas again, gentler this time, taking every mouthy little movement. “Oh…” Cas breathes, and his thighs jerk up, but Dean steadies them with his weight.

Cas laughs – the sound of bells - and he smiles into the movements now because it’s  _good_. So good and Dean makes him feel so fucking  _good_. It plays through his head over and over, this endless loop of pleasure and the scratch of Dean’s stubble on his own, his toes curling up and relaxing.

“Love your laugh.” Dean reflects, Cas arching up again into another drag of Dean’s closed hand. Cas squeezes his forearm.

“Not yet…not yet…” he mutters and Dean slowly unfolds his hand over Cas’s weeping erection. Dean kisses his temple and inhales against his skin. They stare at each other and Cas pulls Dean’s arm forward, mouthing at the inside of his elbow. Dean doesn’t say anything (coherent at least) as he falls to his side, Cas climbing back on him to reach into the bedside table. He looks down at Dean, sympathetic for a moment.

“You want me to…?” He rubs an appreciative hand over Dean’s dick through his boxers and Dean shakes his head, grabbing Cas’s hips, feels the press of Cas’s knee between his legs, the softness of the bed. He stares up at him, the muss of his hair and the toned line of his shoulders, the wet on the front of his jockeys slung low on his pelvis.

“No.” He says, and he means it. He doesn’t need anything else tonight – what he wants is right in front of him.

Cas digs through the drawer and produces the lube, kissing him again, a little urgently.

“I don’t need much.” He tells Dean, and Dean can taste that honesty on his mouth and feels it in a sharp spike to his gut. Suddenly he realizes how  _occupied_  the bed was without him.

“Busy?” He says hotly and Cas hums into his kiss. That fire comes back, a smolder.  “Care to share?” Cas tugs on his underwear and slips a hand down between his legs. He winces, dry, and Dean pulls his hand away.

“You take too long.” Cas replies, irritation resurfacing, “Always waiting… _waited all week_ …”

“Don’t be stupid.” He rushes, and then pulls Cas’s hand up to his mouth sucking a finger in. Cas jackknifes, hearing the pop of the lid on the lube and then it’s _Dean’s fingers_.

Stretching and scissoring and they’re different in that sinfully good way, unhurried and patient, unlike his own which run him over the edge like a man possessed.

He’s loose though and the thought makes Dean’s dick twitch, ratcheting up a bit.

“Tell me what you thought about…” Dean implores, begging the question.

Cas mewls in response, sweat breaking out on his forehead, and he rubs absent hands up and down Dean’s sides, nails bumping on his ribs.

“Your dick.” He says harshly and genuinely and Dean has to refrain from rolling his eyes and shaking his head. Dean’s only retaliation is to crook his fingers and Cas sees sparks, but he also starts jamming himself back onto Dean with more than a little insistence.

“Now who’s impatient?” Dean says, giving up, because Cas is breathless and needy and scratching at him.

“Later.” Cas grits, “Later, later.”

Dean throws his boxers back with his jeans and pins Cas on the mattress.

“You’re a piece of work.” Dean accuses, biting him, nipping, and Cas takes it all, scrabbling at Dean’s back, “Fucking tease me…and then you just wanna go.”

“ _YES._ ” Cas keens. “Yes, Dean…”

Dean slides his fingers out and when they’re replaced Cas seizes up, mouth open in a voiceless hallelujah.

Dean feels that delicious heat and Cas throws his arms up, draws them close together, his knees over Dean’s elbows.

“…love you so…” Cas tries to say, “…much…hate waiting…”

Dean groans and thrusts forward. One day he’ll get it across to Cas that you can’t say stuff like that to him, that it unties the little careful strings and everything falls apart. He loses himself in the loudness of Cas. Ages of singing praises doesn’t dissipate because of  _humanity_  , and Cas appreciates Dean more than he’s ever appreciated anyone.

It makes Dean lose himself. It makes him want to be loud too, because Cas doesn’t understand conventions like tact or strategy in love. He just  _loves_.

He’s jamming Cas back into the mattress and Cas is taking everything  in a buzz of hands on his back on his waist on his hips, his face, an unconscious stream of “ _yes, yes, yes_ …”

Cas rolls his hips up to meet each thrust, kissing viciously, earnestly, and Dean reaches between the two of them, fisting around Cas’s dick again.

“Fuck, baby.” Dean cries, “Fuck, fuck.” And Cas let’s his hands fall to Dean’s shoulders, squeezing, until one moves down to his thigh where Dean’s own unoccupied hand is positioned for leverage. Cas’s fingers wrap around Dean’s and squeeze in time, and he stares up at Dean’s face, eyes wide. He doesn’t say anything, but his mouth is slack and open and he huffs with Dean, the two of them slamming together.

Cas’s arm falls to the covers, gracefully curling in a regal arc beside his head, the knuckles just brushing his splayed dark hair. He vibrates with the force and presses his lips together before the fall open again, the room stifling and hot with the sounds of their breathing and the heater.

Cas ‘s fingers go shockingly tight with the tiny shift of Dean’s movement and he pants.

“Come on baby.” Dean urges, “Come on.”

Cas’s eyes flutter close, and Dean knows where he is. He’s told him before.

_Like you’re all over me…and it’s wonderful, Dean. It’s the best thing in the world…_

Dean wants to see him. He wants to see him fall apart, and as if in response to these thoughts Cas’s legs open, beckoning Dean in tighter, closer, and Dean complies too easily. Because Cas is spoiled and he gets what he wants, and Dean gets  _need_ , and he gets  _love_  so much love that it spills over out of Cas.

“Dean…” He mouths and, “Dean…Dean…”

“Yeah, baby. Come on. Show me.”

Cas opens his eyes in one fierce moment, frighteningly bright and luminescent, and maybe it’s a trick of the light from their still silent TV, but they glow.

Electricity jumps from Cas’s skin and Dean can’t hold on much longer with how intently Cas stares at him, and it will never stop shocking him, when he comes, stuttering below him, silent and his limbs jerking in response as he paints trails of sticky white between them.

Dean goes fast and hard at those eyes, but he forces himself to keep his open.

“Fuck.” He grits, “F-fuck, Cas.” He whispers, and Cas’s eyes flutter at him, hands combing back over his ears.

Dean’s arms shake and he eases himself down, holding them together in a white hot press. Cas breathes deeply and evenly, and Dean has to remember to pull out and to roll over onto his stomach, or he’ll probably crush him. He’s exhausted – bone tired and satisfied, but he touches Cas gently.

“You ok?” He says, and Cas nods, blinking at him.

“Of course.” He whispers softly, all his little demanding self tucked safely away in his sublimely tranquil shell. He heaves himself up to walk to the bathroom. He hates sleeping like that, and he wipes himself up, the tap running a wonderful white noise on Dean’s ears, before padding back to bed to nestle naked against Dean’s side.

“We’ll go again tomorrow.” He reassures Dean and Dean laughs.

“Fuck yeah.” He replies and Cas kisses him, slowly, sleepily.

“God it gets harder to drive every time. I feel like I gotta practice.” Dean slurs and Cas rubs his back in soothing circles, fingers skating over Dean’s shoulder blades.

“Mmmm.” Cas agrees, and Dean pulls a pillow down from where it’s pressed against the headboard for them to share.

Cas lifts his head and plows it into the down, rubbing his face on the ivory fabric as he moves his foot and rakes the blankets upwards to fold over them.

His fingers splay out on Dean’s hot back and Dean sighs in affection.

“We should go to the park tomorrow.” Cas says thoughtfully and Dean nods against the pillow.

“I’d love that.” He smiles. Cas falls asleep almost instantly after that and Dean watches him puff a piece of hair falling over his damp forehead upwards before slicking it back with one heavy hand. His fingers stay there, combing, and Cas moves his head and the hand falls to his neck and eventually over his chest, Dean on his stomach, Cas on his back, their necks curved towards each other.

“I’d love that.” Dean repeats, before his eyes fall shut.


	21. tantrum*

_“I W-W-W-W-WANT ITTTT!”_  Faith screams as Daniel holds his stuffed lion high above his head.

“NO!” He yells back and Faith opens her mouth and a long, harsh, scream comes out as she stands in the play room. “IT’S MINE!” Daniel continues, starting to go red in the face. His younger sister doesn’t care as she claws at his shirt and reaches for it, still screaming.

“ _MINE! MINE!”_ She howls, the crocodile tears starting. Dean’s never seen a kid who could cry like that - seriously, the amount of water that comes out of his daughter’s eyes is obscene. At the moment, that’s the last thing in Dean’s thughts, though. At the moment, he is staring tiredly at the ceiling while he and Cas argue about who’s turn it is to deal with this.

“DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDY!” Daniel shouts, his voice, long and whining, winding into the hallway and into th bedroom. Dean groans, Cas folding socks, wincing as he rolls a pair together and then tosses it down with the rest of the folded clothes.“DADDY FAITH WON’T STOP!”

“Deal with it.” Cas growls, looking harrowed. “They’ve been at it all day and I’m trying to get this done.”

“You want me to deal with it?” Dean says, obviously sarcastic, standing up from their bed. Cas glares at him. Dean rolls his shoulders and stares right back. “Then none of that ‘you were too harsh’ crap. They’ve been at it all day and they need to knock it off.”

“Dean, I said  _deal_  with it, not enact  _marshal_  law.” Cas spits back, throwing a t-shirt into the laundry basket at his feet. Dean rolls his eyes.

“Thanks for the support,  _dear_.” He grumbles, marching out the door and into the hallway.

“DEAN!” Cas calls, now holding one of Faith’s little skirts, and now throwing invisible daggers at the back of Dean’s head. He balls it and then let’s it go, rubbing his neck tiredly. It’s out of his hands, and as long as there’s no bloodshed he’s sure he can handle whatever Dean does.

As Dean wheels into the playroom he has to navigate over Legos and the insides of the dollhouse, but it’s easy to reach them. Daniel is still holding the lion over his head and Faith is starting to pitch a  _serious_  fit, throwing her arms around and screaming.

“ALRIGHT!” Dean roars as he comes towards them, grabbing the lion and tossing it to land in the old couch they’ve put in for the kids. “Alright!” He says, a little softer, now that he has their attention, both of them staring at him, Faith still screaming and Daniel sporting a frown that rival’s Sam’s. Faith flings her body on him and keeps on, but he peels her off and holds her out at arm’s length, forcing the two to look at each other. 

“Daddy she won’t stop!” Daniel whines and Dean takes him firmly by the shoulder, kneeling down.

“I don’t want to hear it.” He says seriously, wheeling on Faith.

“Faith, you stop that. Calm down or I’m gonna give you something to cry about -”

“DEAN!”

 _stupid super-dad-hearing_ , Dean thinks, rolling his eyes as he rephrases, trying to maintain eye contact with his hysterical three year old.

“…calm down or I’m going to put you in your room.”

That quiets her and she sucks in her breath and whimpers. Dean looks between his kids and then crosses his arms.

“Now, you’re going to make silly faces at one another.” He says with all the Daddish sobriety he can.

“What?” Daniel says, his brow furrowing.

“You heard me.” Dean repeats, staring at his son. “You’re going to make a silly face at your sister or you’re going to get it.”

“Are you…are you serious?” Daniel says incredulously with all his seven year old attitude. Dean gives him a look.

“You think I’m fooling around?”

Daniel shakes his head rapidly.

“No.”  
  
“No what?”

“No…sir.” He adds reluctantly before turning to his sister and then glancing at Dean before puffing his cheeks out and putting his hands on his ears. Faith stops hiccuping long enough to watch her brother, her features melting into confusion. She watches Daniel, her mind obviously furiously working to understand the sudden change. Dean bites the inside of his cheek as she glowered suspiciously.

“You’ll have to try harder. She laughs or there’ll be trouble.”

Daniel stares at his father and then thought on this before returning his attention to his baby sister.

“Look, Faith, I’m a fish…” He said, puckering his lips and moving his hands like fins. Faith watched him and then slowly, started to mimic him.

“Fish!” She says and Daniel much to his surprise, giggles a little.

“No, like this!” He says, because she’s puffing her cheeks instead of sucking them in. He reaches out to push her cheeks together and air rushes out and she laughs, a few little tears still sticking to her cheeks.

“Again! Again!” She says and resumes pushing her cheeks out. Daniel does it again. laughing, and looking at Dean.

“Monkey looks like a monkey!” He says with a goofy smile, cracking up. Dean smiles too and crosses his eyes which makes both of them laugh like it’s going out of style. Faith tries to do the same thing but fails and then wiggles like three year old’s do and takes Daniel’s hands in her tiny ones and pushes them to her face.

“Again! Again!”

Daniel does it again and they both fall apart.

They settle into a cycle after a while and Dean stands and goes back to the master bedroom looking triumphant. He’s about to shove his victory in Cas’s face when he realizes that Cas is knocked out - he’s dead asleep, mouth partly open, on Dean’s pillow, a pair of Dean’s socks still in his hand, snoring away.

Shaking his head and grabbing the throw off of their window seat, he drapes it on Cas and kisses him gently on the temple before kicking the laundry basket away from the bed and retreating back out of the room, shutting the door as quietly as possible behind him.

Dean goes to the play room again where Daniel and Faith are speaking some weird kid language and moving hot wheels around the couch cushions, and Dean sits down to join them.


	22. kiss it better*

When Dean comes home from work he spies a certain little girl at the window, watching him pull up the drive.

She jumps up and down and then the blinds rattle and the curtains flutter as she dissapears. Dean parks the impala in the garage and gets out, ducking under the garage door as it starts to close. Cas stands on the front step, barefoot as Faith comes tearing down the front walk to meet him. Dean crouches down, waiting for impact as she squeals and shrieks, hands already flung out to grab at him.

Dean hisses when she trips and rocks forward, her knees hitting the poured concrete.

“Oh, damn!” Dean says and he and Cas wait a beat to see her reaction. She stares at the ground and then looks up at Dean crocodile tears already welling up and pouring down her face. 

“Ah- Ahhhh!” She cries and that’s all Dean needs before he is rushing for her as she holds her arms up at him, the little palms red and scraped. 

“Oh, oh, oh! Hey!” Dean soothes, pulling her up against him, settling her on his hip, inspecting the hurts on her hands. He turns them over and then looks at her knees - scraped but not bleeding, but it will probably bruise on the soft baby skin.He brushes his thumb over her fingers.

Faith whimpers and Dean bounces her, walking up towards the house.

“That hurts, I bet.” Dean says softly, and Faith hiccups, starting to calm down. Cas meets them inside and pushes her hair back over her now sticky cheeks. 

“Did you take a spill?” He asks and she nods, mouth still open in little gulping sobs. “Yeah?” He pulls her hand towards his mouth, kissing the angry, pink, skin.

“All better?” Dean asks and Faith nods, swiping at her face.

“Y-ye” She replies and he nods back.

“You’re ok.” Cas reminds her, shutting the door as Dean walks to the kitchen, pulling her off of his hip and in front of him, tossing her a little bit. As he walks he brings her stomach up to his mouth and blows on it, which makes her laugh and squirm.

“Who’s my best girl? Who’s my best girl, huh?” Dean says loudly as she starts fisting her little hands in his hair. He grabs her hand and play bites at it and she makes that little keen of joy he loves so much. 

She’s overflowing with giggles as he flips her upside down. Cas rolls his eyes at the two of them as she laughs, her face going scarlet, and flops down onto the couch in the living room to re open his paper back. Dean notices that some disney movie is playing on the TV and that the room is scattered with legos - the big kind for little hands.

Dean slings her back up and grabs a beer from the fridge before following Cas’s example by wandering towards the singing cartoons on the television. Faith whines to get down and he lets her, watching as she gallops to the legos and sits down, immediately resuming whatever it was. Every few seconds she pauses and watches the movie, her mouth falling open, only to snap back to her legos, talking to herself.

Dean moves Cas’s feet till they’re in his lap and leans against the back of the couch, opening his beer with the bottle opener on his key ring.

“Can you go to the bus stop at three?” Cas says, turning a page on his paperback, and Dean grunts his yes. He likes being the first one Danny sees when he gets off the bus after school, his back pack big enough to swallow him whole and his pants usually grass stained from recess.

“Look!” Faith interrupts, and both men look up at the TV, following Faith’s finger where it points to two frogs dancing. 

“Wow.” Dean comments, watching them and Faith bounces, clacking two legos together before fitting them back onto some bizarre construction. Cas stretches his foot, making his ankle pop, and Dean watches as Faith plays, still muttering to herself in some nonsensical language.

He sips his beer and rests his eyes, rubbing Cas’s leg through his jeans.


	23. your song*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rated S for Spicy ;)

The power goes out on February 13th down at the lake house and Dean knows they won’t be able to get the repair guy out there until tomorrow afternoon – they are an hour out from the high way and the electric company always runs on half time. Dean is mostly freaking out because the land line is out and that means he can’t call Bobby, which means he can’t call about the kids, and the term stressed really isn’t applying very well. Frantic is a better term.

“They’re  _fine_.” Cas says for probably the fiftieth time in thirty minutes. “They have Bobby and Sam looking after them, you really think they’d let anything hurt them? Human or  _otherwise_?”  

Dean shakes his head and rubs his palms on his jeans while Cas walks past where the hunter is staring into the refrigerator blankly, like any minute a three course meal is going to pop into view.

“You want an omelet?” Dean says looking at the carton of eggs they bought the day before. “It’s gonna spoil otherwise…” The wind moans through the trees outside and whistles through the eves at the front of the house, but no snow falls. The bare branches cast shadows on the window panes where the sun is starting to go down. Cas digs in their pantry for storm candles and a box of matches and doesn’t reply, so Dean pulls it out along with the last of their bacon and the last half of their onion, a red pepper and somehow manages to throw it together on the counter. Cas reappears looking triumphant, a bag of tea lights in one hand and the other held behind his back.

“Look what I found!” He exclaims, coming to stand next to Dean who glances over his shoulder. Cas, who isn’t so good at surprising people, pulls the two bottles of wine out from where it’s hidden and sets them down on the counter. Dean smiles but Cas has this way of telling he’s still worried.

“I don’t know if it’ll compliment such a five star meal.” Cas teases, tilting his head into Dean’s line of vision where Dean is shelling the outer parts of the onion. Dean laughs softly and tries to push him out of the way as he works, but Cas is persistent. “But I think we can make it work.” He steals a kiss, and then another and when Dean isn’t particularly enthusiastic about it, sighs and rubs Dean’s tense shoulder.

“The most they have to worry about is how much Sam is going to over feed them, ok? Nothing is going to happen.” And then Cas is pulling away to open the wine with a struggle and, after realizing they have no real wine glasses, shrugs and pours it into two regular ones.

“Classy.” Dean says, cracking eggs and Cas raises his eyebrows, taking a sip, pinky up. Dean shakes his head, smiling deep into the side of his cheek while Cas comes at him with the other glass.

“I’m warning you, it’s cheap.”

“Hmm.” Dean hums as Cas raises the glass to his lips and gives him a taste. Dean frowns and then laughs, “Oh god, that is cheap.” Cas chuckles into his glass and sets Dean’s beside the cutting board as he moves to start lighting candles. He spreads them out over the house and by the time he gets out of the back bedroom Dean’s folding their omelets over and sliding them onto plates. The kitchen is thankfully warm because of the gas stove and Cas prods at the fire in the living room, so the cold doesn’t get to them too bad. The sun has completely set and the wind still rakes over the lake down the path from the house. Cas takes the hot plates from Dean’s hands and sets them down without real method to it before he drags his hands down Dean’s chest.

“So, I have a plan.”

“Oh, you do?” Dean says, interested, the candles barely lighting very far from the table, Cas’s face steeped in shadows. Only his eyes gleam as they glance up at him from under his dark lashes. Cas nods and then leans forward to kiss Dean’s neck.

“Yes.” Cas starts with another kiss, nosing up to Dean’s jaw. “I think we should eat, and we should definitely get mildly drunk on this wine, and then I think we should run a bath and then I think we should probably have some very nice sex.”

Dean rolls his head back, already starting to let the uneasiness go. It’s hard to be worried when Cas is working hands under the hem of his shirt.

“Good plan.” Dean says as Cas finally kisses him properly before pulling back and sitting down on the table.

“You know, I thought you’d like it.” Cas says playfully as Dean follows, pulling his plate towards him. Dean takes a bite and chews thoughtfully. It isn’t half bad, but then again he’s always been handy around a kitchen and meager ingredients have always been part of his vocabulary from a lifetime of hotel rooms. Cas seems impressed as he drinks his wine and cuts his omelet with the side of his fork.

“Needs something…” Dean murmurs as he continues eating and Cas shoves a forkful into his mouth, chasing a string of cheese.

“No it doesn’t.” He responds and Dean takes a drag of his own wine and as soon as he sets the glass down Cas tips more in from the bottle between them, almost spilling.

“Can’t see a thing – “ Cas mutters as Dean helps him, steering the neck of the bottle with his finger, smiling. The wine is making Cas’s face flush and it’s making his mouth loose. They go through the bottle as they eat slowly, Cas pecking at Dean’s leftovers when he’s done with his own.

“Sammy used to eat his eggs with ketchup when he was a kid – and my dad would get so grossed out.” Dean says and Cas leans forward over his plate, smiling. He balances his chin into the palm of his hand and stares so evenly at Dean, his free fingers playing with the skin of Dean’s knuckles. “He grew out of it though. For a few years that’s the only way he’d eat them – but man, this one time we went through a mcdonalds and he made my dad ask for ketchup for his egg mcmuffin and my dad just stared at him and it was so funny because my  _dad_  said “Sammy, that’s not normal. No one eats freakin’ ketchup on an egg mcmuffin…” and we just cracked up because he was, you know, hunting.” Dean laughs, staring at Cas’s eyes like he’s going to make fun of him. Cas smiles instead.

“He would have liked you. My dad.” Dean finishes after a quiet moment and Cas looks thoughtfully at the ceiling, considering this, still running his fingertips over the skin of Dean’s hand.

“I would have liked to have met him.” Cas replies reaching forward to drain the last bit of wine from his glass, pushing Dean’s toward him. “Now, if you do remember, we have a plan?”

“Oh, yes,  _the plan_.” Dean humors, watching Cas get up and start clumsily blowing out the candles on the table. They repeat this process in the living room and Dean makes sure the fire is out before ambling after Cas to the master bath. Cas sheds his clothes and lights candles on the counter, the water roaring into the tub. He sloshes in and Dean lets his own clothes pile with Cas’s, dragging towels to the floor before he gets in with him, their legs tangling, the steaming water looking like smoke against the candles. Cas leans forward and grabs Dean’s neck, pulling him forward to wet his hair. He cups the water over and over, letting it trickle over Dean’s neck and shoulders before squeezing the shampoo into his palm. Dean groans in happiness as Cas scratches at his scalp, lathering the shampoo in. The wind rocks the house, and Cas helps Dean rinse, cupping his hand to keep the soap from running into his eyes. Dean thinks about how much that means – Cas is always doing that. Little things. Little stupid things like that. He washes Cas’s hair next and makes him laugh when he drags it all up, making cowlicks with his fingers. His own hair flops in his eyes and Cas brushes it down over his forehead.

“You look like a little boy.” He comments and Dean snorts, dumping water on Cas’s head, making Cas close his eyes abruptly. When he opens them he rubs a little at his face, wiping the water away, and Dean gently grabs his wrist and pulls it away.

“C’mere.” Dean whispers, and Cas sits forward. They slide their hands over each other, wet skin slick, and Cas buries himself in Dean’s mouth. Water slips out of the tub onto the floor, but it’s when Dean knocks his knee on the porcelain that they climb out. They trail wet footprints onto the tile and Dean towels Cas’s hair into a frizzy mess, Cas kissing him the whole time. Dean towels at Cas’s shoulders, his back, sighing as Cas kisses his neck, the hollow of his collar bone, the inside of his elbow, his palm. Dean drops the towel and Cas blows out the candles. It’s pitch black in the room and Cas sits on the edge of the bed and holds his arms out

“Dean.”

Dean goes to him, and they roll down on to the covers, and Cas hold him and brushes his lips over the little spare drops, chases them, and then kisses Dean with a sigh. Dean slides them, moves over him, crouching, and decides he could watch him forever like this – in the dark. His eyes adjust and he makes out the outcrop of Cas’s hair on the grey comforter, the bone-white glow of his skin. Cas arches his arms over Dean’s neck and then down his sides. It’s somewhere in between Cas’s navel and his chest that Dean calls him pretty, and then Cas’s breath hitches and the muscles stutter against Dean’s mouth.

They sway. It’s kind of mind blowing. With the wind and the way the way rain starts to pebble on the window. It’s very quiet, just the whine of the mattress spring and Cas breathing and Dean breathing and the silent parts where they lose their breaths in each other.

Sometimes a name, sometimes something else, muffled in a mouth or a neck or the sheets and somewhere in it all Dean tells him he’s never going to love anybody like this ever again, that he’s going to love him like nobody’s loved him and Cas kind of laughs.

Kind of laughs and says that he already does, says it slow, and good.   
  
“Oh, Dean, oh you do. You already do.”

In the afterword, Dean lies on Cas’s chest and Cas cards his fingers sleepily through Dean’s damp hair.

Someday someone is going to ask him what this was like and Dean isn’t going to really explain it. He’s probably going to stand there like an idiot. Someday Cas is going to ask him  _how_  much and Dean won’t have an answer. They don’t make things big enough to compare what it all is – what this is, this man under him and this skin and those arms and those hands. Cas trails his fingers to Dean’s face absently and Dean kisses them, eyes closing.

Someday someone is going to ask him and Dean will think back and he’ll remember the hazy hours of February 13th and it’ll all seem so normal and so ordinary and so quiet, and maybe when he’s old he won’t remember any of it, but he’ll remember Cas’s eyes closing and then opening in the bath tub, by the light of storm candles under the rail of the wind, and how those eyes looked at him, water trailing down his nose, and how he smiled and how he let Dean hold his face in his hands, how in a million ways something could have gone so fucking wrong, but it didn’t. It  _didn’t_.

Dean falls asleep thinking how he’ll kiss Cas in the morning. Kiss him awake, if he’s lucky, and watch his eyes open.

Like blue sky after rain.


	24. steady as the stars in the wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rated S for Spicy ;)

Dean sighs something against the thick air and Cas leans forward to hear them.

“What?” He asks, soft. They are at the lake house. The curtains shift with the breeze carrying the sound of the wind chimes on the porch and a dove calls low and sad as the sun dusts twilight over the horizon; the sun spreads out his fingers one last time to the good earth, bathing the bedroom in muted gold. Dean shifts, limp cock catching on the bare skin of Cas’s hip.

 

“I’m sorry you can’t go anywhere you want anymore.” He repeats, throwing one freckled arm over the pillow. The fabric scrunches into a million waves haloed around Dean’s knuckles. Cas stretches a leg against the sheets and watches Dean, reaching out one hand to brush eyelash from the swell of his cheekbone.

“Who says I can’t go where I want?” He replies in time, swiping the pad of his fingers together, flicking it away.

“Hey, you’re supposed to wish for something.” Dean mocks, not delivering his answer just yet, letting a boyish smile interrupt the sobriety of Cas’s question. He stops, darts the tip of his tongue out at the ridge of his dry lip and considers. “There’ve gotta be better places than here.” Dean admits after a thoughtful silence. Cas doesn’t tell Dean that the sound of him rolling on the blanket is delightful. It’s one of his favorites - rasping. He likes that and the sound of brooms on the wooden floors of their house, he likes the sound of Dean’s back when he cracks it in the morning. He likes the percolator on the coffee machine, the dry drumming it makes. He likes the strange breathing-laugh that Dean does through his nose when he is trying to secret his smiles away. He doesn’t say any of this, just relishes the muffled sound of his body as it thrashes a moment, adjusting, getting comfortable.

“I’ve been many places.” Cas complies, because he knows that this won’t rest till he’s given Dean some form of explanation. Dean’s intentions are a mystery, but that’s half the brilliance of it. Figuring out the in-betweens, being able to know his sounds, the tilt of his voice and his words. The strange breathing laugh. Cas’s eyes dance with stars at that moment, and when Dean sees them in the retreating, hazy, cloak of dwindling daylight he can see nebulas skim on the arcs of blue of his iris, not so unlike the drift of water lilies at the edge of the lake.

Cas moves and Dean finds himself grounded by two fingers walking over his shoulder that edge and nudge under his ear and around the shell of it, brushing his short hair into place.

Dean stays quiet, and the frogs start up their chirping drone, the dove keeps singing and the whistle of the train a mile away wails in the distance. The willows whisper to each other about the two men who walk along the lake edge and hold hands and kiss each other like they are young. Who fumble over stones and sit silently and watch the birds, who row out a little boat and fish until they come back rosy pink and smelling like long talks about nothing.

The sky stains purple, like someone spilled wine over the clouds. Cas mouths at Dean’s right knee.

“The cedars of Lebanon…” He says softly and travels up to his thigh, hairs tickling at his cheek. “…okavango delta…”

He stalls on a hipbone.   
  
“…aillte an mhothai…salar de uyuni…”

Dean closes his eyes, focuses on the scratch of stubble on his abodmen, the kiss to each rib he receives, the strum of Cas’s fingess as they slip down his sides. The wind filters in and leaves goosebumps on their sticky skin, promising cool weather and rain. Crickets sing in the grass and Dean remembers a far off story about the bird that could catch souls and keep them from leaving earth as the whippoorwill sounds in the wood. Cas’s voice, wooly with sleepiness follows after him, chasing the trembling brooks of sadness that blossom in his stomach like the columbine trellis they nailed to the cottage’s side.

“…the islands of marovo, huascaran…”

He palms absently at Cas’s hair and Cas kisses the inside of his elbow, and Dean’s face tenses with unnamed emotion. He feels the broad sweep of sensation when Cas let’s his head stay there, tucked in the crook of his elbow.

Dean breathes in and out, and Cas’s hand lays on his chest and he imagines each cell drowning in the oxygen, pictures the celebration of each groaning tissue as it receives blood and water, and marvels at the intimate mechanics of every atom.

“…but you were the greatest wonder.” Cas says to the possum and the raccoon, to the vixen with yellow eyes gleaming at the seam of the thicket keeping vigil over the kits in her den, fat with milk. Two little kits are curled on their grandfather’s bed as he tells them a story he has been wanting to tell for a long time. He translates it, but in his head it is the story of three boys who saved an old man from himself. The little girl’s infant fist curls against her mouth and she nibbles her finger, nodding forward, trying to keep the sleep away . The boy sprawls at his feet, arms slung out over the old man’s legs, head resting on his thigh. The dog on the rug below kicks absently in her dreams.

“There is nowhere better than here.” Cas remarks, his words scented with absolutes from years ago even when his voice hovers barely above a whisper. The smell of Dean’s shampoo clings to his hair and Dean holds him, fastening his arms over his back like he’s still a star that could shoot off without him, like a soul that could fly away before he could catch it. The Whippoorwill trills again and the lake laps at the bank, coming and going, but always kissing - like two lovers coming home again and again, never growing tired of each other. 

Cas kisses him three times till the worry on his brow smooths out, and Dean considers which is really the privileged one: the wave or the shoreline. They work themselves up to a steady wanting, Dean whimpering when Cas guides him in.

The moon ripples over the water and Dean holds Cas’s head in his hands and let’s his tongue cut paths for his gratefulness on the roof of Cas’s mouth as they fit together, rocking steadily, limbs loose and Cas’s legs falling open on either side of him, pulling closer.

The sight could be sinful, with Cas’s head flung back as he rolls his hips, but when Dean covers the hands pressed on his stomach with his own it sings like an old hymn, deep and slow.

They fall asleep this time, and Dean finds himself held. Moths beat against the window screen and Cas mumbles some complaint while Dean marvels at the curiosity they must be to heaven and man. He didn’t know lines between keeping and being kept could be so tangled - how two people could blur into each other so much that there are no lines to question anymore.

The wonder, Dean decides, is only that he is able to receive the love he gets without splitting in two at the weight of it. 

But then that love settles arms on him like a blanket, and wraps around him as many times as it will fit, holding him like a soul that is trying to get away. Gravity gently reminds him that neither of them are going anywhere, but Dean ties himself around Cas to be sure.

An owl hoots across the lake and is answered and the swallows roost in the eves of the cabin. The cattails sing lullabies about the the star and the catfish, the greatest wonder how they ever walked apart from each other.

How there ever was a time before now, or a place before  _here_.


	25. nap*

Bobby knows that Dean and Cas will probably give him shit for it later, but he can’t bring himself to do anything about it. 

Besides, he’s her grandpa. He couldn’t be mad at her for being grumpy later if his life depended on it. So he lets her sleep instead, far past the time she’s supposed to, bundled up in Karen’s wedding quilt on his sagging couch.

Secretly, he knows that she won’t go down later when he tucks  her in with her brother on the guest bed, but that’s ok. Round ten little feet will squeak down his stairs and she’ll come sit up in his lap, quiet as a church mouse. Bobby is far too honest a man to say he doesn’t love it, her tucked up, staring sleepily at the tv while he flips through books and thumbs through research for Sam or whoever else needs it at the time.

By the time she nods off he’s closed his last volume and carries her upstairs, his legs groaning the whole time, not shutting the door till he’s sure the room is safe, that the sigils are still under the rug at the foot of the bed, that - he remembers where he is and bends over to tuck the quilt under her a little more. 

Her eyelashes flutter and she frowns at him briefly.

“Grampa…?”

“Go back to sleep, sugar.”

She mumbles something and closes her eyes again.

Bobby kisses her and she smiles at the scratch of his beard on her cheek before he creeps out of the room, off to some other task.


	26. found you*

Dean hadn’t meant anything by it when he dropped the towel on Cas’s head, initially.

He had just been walking by with laundry when he did it, just to be cheeky, and he had pulled the big brown towel out of the basket and flung it so that it covered Cas’s face, startling a surprised ‘ah’ out of the former in the angel in the process.

Faith, apparently, thought it was hysterical.

 

She had been teetering around by Cas for some time, just wobbling around on her new found legs, and Cas had been holding her hands, watching her to make sure she didn’t try to pull anything off of the coffee table or bump her head.

When Cas had reacted so strongly to the towel being thrown on him she had frozen, and Dean had paused to watch her.

“Dean…” Cas huffed, moving to pull the towel off but Dean quickly stopped him, laughing.

“No! No! I wish you could see her face…” he started, breaking into a grin as Faith’s mouth fell open and she stared at Cas, or, more appropriately the towel.

“I could if I didn’t have the towel on me…” Cas grumbled, but he stayed put as Dean came closer, balancing the basket of clean clothes on the back of the couch.

“Hey!” he said, and Faith looked up at him, her big brown eyes wide. Dean raised his eyebrows. “Where’d he go? Where did Papa go?” Faith made a noise and then  whipped her head back to Cas and the towel. She teetered forward and patted at it.

“Here I am!” Cas said, lifting the edge up, exposing his face. Faith’s eyes widened in shock and then, at seeing his smile, she began to giggle. She laughed, pushing at his cheeks and mouth. Cas smiled back and then slowly veiled himself in the towel again.

“He’s gone again!” Dean exclaimed as Faith paused her giggling, resuming her big-eyed stare at her other daddy. Dean leaned over the couch and shook his head at her. “Where’d he get to? Where did your silly Papa go?”

She smiled, toothless, and made a little wiggle as she patted the towel.

“There he is!” Dean prompted and Cas showed himself again. Faith laughed even harder and stomped her foot in a disjointed, joyful, rhythm. She laughed, her cheeks to pink roses, and pawed at the towel, giggling like mad. Cas started to chuckle and let her pull the fabric down over his face before she kept patting, waiting for him to reveal himself, which he did, even more dramatically than the first two times, getting into the game.

“Here I am!” He said and she laughed so hard she leaned into his hands that had gone out to support her. Her fat little legs curled up and she tipped forward, headbutting him with the force of her laughter. Cas watching her began to laugh too, his shoulders shaking as he right her, making sure her feet were firmly on the rug before he slowly rearranged the towel again.

He did it again and again every time she shrieked, until Cas’s eyes were watering he was laughing so hard, his breath coming in stuttered little pants. He had to stop and wipe at his face as he calmed down, coughing slightly, and Faith mapped his arms with her little fingers, clamoring to get closer to him as he flicked the tears from the corners of his eyes. She collapsed against him and he hooked his hands under her arms and brought her above him.

“Oh, my silly, silly, girl.” he crooned, kissing her all over her face, “My silly, silly, girl!”

She shrieked and Dean shook his head as Faith rocked back and sat on the floor, Cas pulling the towel off of his shoulders to put over her.


	27. the muse*

They are sitting in the antique book shop in town, a little place called ‘Ed’s Editions’ that Cas is a regular at. Danny and Dean are down in the cars section while Cas flips through a book with illustrations by Salvador Dali. The pictures are colorful and it’s strange to see such tame drawings coming from such a master of the surreal. Cas has always quietly thought that if anyone were to paint heaven Dali would do it the most justice. He wouldn’t have been afraid of what he saw, he thinks. Or maybe he’s wrong. Cas doesn’t know. He never knew the painter.

Faith rocks back and forth on her heels, balancing against the back of the tall backed chair Cas is currently employing as he thumbs through the musty-smelling volume on his lap.

 

She stops rocking herself and sidesteps around the chair, staring at him, her long brown hair falling unevenly into her face. She flicks it away with all her newly eight-years-old attitude and sighs.

“What is that about?” She says, obviously bored with the bookstore. Cas smiles to himself and turns to her. She doesn’t meet his stare, reaching out a hand to turn the page instead. She flips it forward and back, trying to glean something from it. Cas tilts his head, watching her.

Her brown eyes dance over the page, and she raises her eyebrows at the colorful pictures.

“These are cool. You always get books with pictures and stuff.” She chews on her lip a little after she stops talking and then swats more long hair out of her face, and Cas chuckles softly at her lack of grace. It’s when he emits that soft laugh that she finally looks up.

“What?” She says. Cas doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring at her heart shaped face, the delicate point of her chin. Dean and he had been talking last night about how pretty she was getting. Dean was more than uncomfortable with how beautiful she is.

No dating till she’s 35 with a face like that, Cas, I’m telling you.

“What?!” She exclaims, still half bent over the arm of the chair, her hand now resting against his. She grins uncertainly. “What is it?”

Castiel leans forward and gently touches his forehead to hers.

“Nothing, monkey.” He says, teasing. She cranes her neck back with a giggle, her nose wrinkled.

“No, what? Really, tell me!”

“Nothing!”

She huffs and rolls her eyes, tossing her head, stray hairs once again stuck to her face. She bats them away and Cas laughs louder.

“I need a hair cut!” She comments with a sigh and he takes his arm and loops it around her neck, smushing her face against his in one reckless little motion. He bats his eyelashes, she laughs. 

“No, I wanna too!” She says, and then he feels the tickle of her eyelashes against the sensitive skin surrounding the outer corner of his eye. It only lasts a second, though, and soon she’s wiggling to get under his arm with all that constant, restless, energy she employs as she bounds away. He watches her dissapear round a corner, behind a tall bookcase. 

He goes back to his book and figures that Dali must have known his daughter in another life and been inspired. What other way could he and others try to replicate the beauty he sees whenever she’s near?

No, surely she has been at the forefront of every great artistic mind. It simply must have been so. But, then again, Cas might be biased.


	28. waiting game*

Daniel leaned in between Dean’s legs and whined.

“It’s only gonna be a few more minutes, so quit bellyaching.” Dean said in ways of reply to the incoherent sound his son had just emitted. They were in the waiting room of the pediatrician’s office. Cas and Faith had disappeared behind the heavy blue door ten minutes ago for Faith’s check up, and Danny had abandoned the trucks and toys to come bother Dean.

 

He pawed at Dean’s legs, little fingers scratching over his denim-covered jeans, wiggling to be in between them. Dean let him, and tried to thumb through the parenting magazine that the office provided. It was thoroughly unconvincing. The kids in the pictures were all way too clean.

“Danny, stop.” Dean scolded as Daniel tried to pull the magazine away.

He whined again, bouncing and Dean sighed, rolled his eyes and slapped the magazine back on the glass topped table to his right.

“What?” He asked and Danny headbutted his stomach. Dean lifted his son’s face from his middle (which was getting soft - and Sam never let him hear the end of it) and stared into his dull green eyes.

“Can I help you?”

Danny laughed and rocked backwards, pulling his hands in front of him.

“Can we sing the spider song?”

He clumsily made some motions and Dean gave a resigned smile.

“Sure.”

He brought his hands in front of Dannys face and placed his right thumb on his left pinky, and slowly, began to walk them upwards.

“The itsy, bitsy, spider went up the water spout…”

Danny mimicked him, singing along.

“…till down came the rain and washed the spider out - ” Dean sang lowly, so as not to bother any of the other parents in the room, his hands shimmering down in a fake rainstorm. Danny didn’t really get the concept and just kind of waved his hands in front of him in a vague mirroring of Dean’s motions. 

“OUT CAME THE SUN!” Danny roared, his arms bursting out on either side. Dean had to bite back his chuckle. Danny’s enthusiasm at that part always tickled him.

“It sure did.” Dean laughed as he repeated the verse.

“Out came the sun and dried up all the rain…”

“…and the itsy, bitsy, pider’ went up the spout again!” Danny finished, giggling as Dean wiggled his fingers in Danny’s face. Danny sighed contentedly.

“Happy?”

“Yes.” Danny said, sagely, nodding his four year old head. Dean took his face in his hands and kissed him on the top of his head.

“Good.”

A few minutes later, Cas emerged, carrying a red faced Faith who was playing with the adhesive on the back of a sticker.

“She cry?” Dean asked, standing, grabbing Danny’s hands so he wouldn’t go running off.

“Only a little this time.” Cas acknowledged, patting her fat leg, her bare feet kicking. “I think she’s just tired. I scheduled her for the morning next time so she won’t be so grouchy - ” He was interrupted by her patting the sticker onto his cheek.

“Let me.” Dean insisted, pulling it off of Cas’s face to put it in the trash can, Faith occupied with the waxy paper she’d peeled off of the back.

“Anyway.” Cas finished. “You behave?” He said, addressing Danny as they moved to the door. Danny nodded and Dean lifted him up to put him on his shoulders once they were outside.

“He was great.” Dean answered, “In fact, I think he was good enough that we could definitely stop and get McDonald’s.”

Danny hugged Dean’s head and laughed as Dean grinned at Cas.

“Oh, really now?” Cas remarked, his eyebrows rising, Faith pushing her discarded paper into his hand. He crumpled it and shoved it into his pocket. “Thank you, Faith - That’s a good idea.”

“My best little man.” Dean said, shaking Danny’s legs where the hung off of his shoulders. Danny giggled and rested his chin on Dean’s hair, little fingers playing with the sides of his face as they walked to the car. 


	29. guy talk*

“Just watch him for like, two seconds.” Dean barks, running to answer the phone.

Sam stares at Daniel and Daniel stares back, his green eyes huge, occupying an obscene amount of space on his round, fat, face.

Sam suddenly feels uncomfortable on the couch but feels like if he moves an inch the baby beside him will somehow suddenly die. Daniel kicks his legs, watching Sam’s every slight squirm. He huffs breaths in and out of his nose and shoves part of his hand gracelessly into his mouth, just watching. Sam, fascinated, watches his nephew and finds himself almost wanting to say something. 

 

He hears Dean in the kitchen saying something into the phone and Sam assumes it’s probably Cas. He continues to observe the infant, as he was directed, and Daniel makes a baby noise.

“Ah!”

“Uh…” Sam starts, putting a cautious hand out towards Daniel’s stomach to pat it the way he’s seen Dean do. “…hi there.” He continues and Daniel blinks at him and kicks again, before craning to look at the massive hand now covering his jersey-cotton clad abdomen. Sam pats his round tummy and Danny flails his hands till they land on top of Sam’s fingers. Sam let’s him pull at them and then lifts his heavy palm off of the baby to bring them to his face. Daniel goes cross eyed and squeezes his fingers, opening and closing his fat hand over Sam’s large knuckles.

“You are very easily entertained.” Sam mumbles, tickled. He raises his other hand and Danny’s eyes track it as it comes into view. “Here’s another. Pretty cool huh? I mean, for hands. Which you already have. Mine are just huge.”

Danny grabs Sam’s other hand with one of his own and Sam smiles in a shitty attempt to hide his obvious delight.

“You’ll have huge hands someday. Which is a totally weird thing to think about. Don’t tell your dad that because he’ll probably have a heart attack. I think he’s convinced himself to let you remain fun sized forever.”

Danny kicks and rolls his head, panting in that odd way babies do.

He rolls his eyes up at Sam and smiles, and suddenly Sam’s finger is bumping against his face and he places the pad of one on his nephew’s nose.

“You wanna hear a secret?” Sam whispers and Danny stops his kicking to look deeply into his eyes. Sam read somewhere that this is called mirroring, or something like that. Sam smiles at him and strokes his thumb over Danny’s cheek.

“You are a really loved little boy, ok? So don’t ever worry.”

Danny stares at him, mouth slightly open and Sam grins.

“Well, I see you two are getting along!” Dean interrupts, going to around the couch to sit down on Danny’s other side. Danny squeals and Dean brushes a fine baby hair out of his face, tickling him and then settling back to reevaluate the score on the baseball game currently playing out on tv.

He pretends not to notice when Sam sneaks out his thumb to smooth it over the swell of Danny’s cheek while the Indians score a double play.


	30. someday*

It kind of slams into him suddenly one day, when he’s driving home from work. He has to pull over into a parking lot and stares at his hands on the wheel, the grip of his fingers, the white stretch of his knuckles. 

He stares at them and the light grey dash board of his car. There is a sweater neglected in the back seat - a, rumpled, yellow, pile that mimics the color of daffodils - that he can see when he glances in the rear view mirror. It’s Faith’s, left over from some trip to the store or to school.

 

He takes an even breath and feels his fingers unhinge and drop into his lap, palms smoothing over his thighs and his knees. He looks at them now, the pale skin on his dark wash jeans. He wears gloves when he gardens and Dean always teases him about the tan line on his wrists.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he sees the splash over the faint pink of a magic marker heart on the back of his hand, placed there by a girl who is nearly thirteen  years old and wants everyone to know. There are wrappers shoved in the pocket behind the driver’s seat. They are wild berry poptarts because those are the only ones a certain sixteen year old will eat.

He wipes at his eyes, pushing the wet away, and takes another breath, and it sort of stutters out of him. He tries to smile, but finds he can’t really do it. His phone buzzes in the center console and he reaches to grab it, immediately rushing to compose his voice.

“Yes.” he says gruffly, and Dean pauses a minute before responding.

“Hey! I was calling to see when you’d be home - are you ok?”

Cas tries to say he is. He really does. He doesn’t want to worry Dean; that old stigma of never wanting to cause him trouble making its more and more infrequent appearance.

But it doesn’t exactly come out like that - it comes out as more of a rush of words that are cracking apart.

“Not really.” Is what comes out.

“What’s wrong? Where are you?” Dean demands, and he can hear him moving into a room with less noise. Cas laughs because  there’s nothing really  _wrong_. He has all his limbs, he’s completely intact, his car is parked in front of the grocery store that they usually go to.

“I’m fine.” He kind of sobs, but he doesn’t mean to say that, and the tears are starting to really blur up the view he has out the windshield. He gasps, “I’m fine.”

“Cas!” Dean ’s voice roars over the line, “Cas, is anyone there…if something has got you -!”

“No!” Cas says hoarsely into the receiver, “No,” his voice is all congested, “it’s nothing like that, I swear. It’s just…”

Dean goes quiet, the static buzzing slightly over the sound of him regulating his breathing after Cas probably scared him half to death.

“Dean,” Cas whispers, his hand shaking as he pushes it up over his hairline. “I’m going to die someday.”

Dean nearly laughs and then is quiet, the sound he makes stopped short for fear of hurting Cas’s feelings.

Cas ignores it, continuing in a little voice. 

“I’m not going to come back again. I’ll be gone. For good.”

Dean is silent for a long time.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers. “I’m really sorry. Come home. We’ll talk about it, if you want.”

“No.” Cas shakes his head, leaning back against his seat. “No, it’s just, I’m going to be gone and I won’t be there to take care of them anymore. Or you.” He doesn’t take a breath, but he pauses, “I don’t care if I die. I’ve died so many times. It doesn’t scare me, but the idea - the thought of me not being there for you or Sam or Daniel or Faith…I can’t.” He presses his fist into his forehead and tries to stop crying because it isn’t helping.

“You were just driving, huh?” Dean asks and Cas sighs a disdainful laugh.

“It hit me like a ton of bricks.”

Dean exhales. 

“It’s some heavy shit, Cas, but you know, humans have been dealing with that for a long time, and I think we turn out ok.” Cas listens intently as Dean talks, the weight in his chest starting to lift, though the sadness still remains. “You just have to keep loving the people in your life and you gotta hope that when you’re gone - when you have to leave them - that they have so much of you in them already that it’s like you’re not really gone at all.”

Cas nods.

“Ok.”

“Ok?”  
  
“Yeah. Yes.”

“Ok. Now, you take the time you need, but there are two teenagers bumming around who would probably like to see you.” He says, and Cas smiles; it’s watery, but strong.

“I’ll be right there.”

“We’ll be waiting.” Dean answers, brightly. Cas waits a beat.

“I love you.” He says. “I love you…so much. I don’t think I’ll ever really get across to you how much.”

He can feel the smile through the phone that Dean gives him, knows he’s probably ducked his head, shyly staring at the floor.

“I love you too.” Dean echoes. “Now get home.”

Cas puts the phone back into the center console, wipes at his face and shakes his hair out. He takes a deep breath, and puts his hands back on the wheel.

He has people who need him, and he won’t deny them a moment while he’s still around.


	31. thief*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is shamelessly torn right out of the scene from 'the family man' which you should watch if you haven't cause it's Fucking Great

Dean paused his digging through the refrigerator and froze.

“Cas?”

“What?”

Dean stared at the empty space where it should have been. He swore it was there. He put it there last night, and now it was gone.

 

“Cas, where the hell is my slice of pie?”

Dean straightened back up, still glaring at the place beside the butter where his plastic-wrapped piece of heaven  _should_ have been.

It was then that Dean heard the nearly imperceptible sound of a fork hitting a plate. Dean turned slowly towards Cas and watched as Cas hovered a piece of cherry pie right in front of his mouth.

“You mean…this pie?” he asked, gesturing lightly with the fork. Dean shook his head. Cas was perched at the kitchen table, wearing his sweats and an inexcusably sexy mop of ruffled hair.

“Don’t you dare!” he said, shoving the fridge door shut, raising an accusing hand. Cas’s lips curled slightly upward and he tensed. Dean pointed at him, grinning, his threat a barked laugh. “Don’t you  _dare_  eat that pie. I was saving it for myself, and if you even think about eating it…CAS!” Dean hissed as Cas slowly began to put the fork in his mouth, sucking the prongs, still staring at Dean. He chewed.

“I’m sorry, Dean, but I can’t,” he said, his voice grave, a smile hinting on his mouth, “it’s just too important to me.” Dean watched as he kept the fork in one hand and then scrambled for the plate, because Dean had already lurched, his socked feet slipping on the wood floor. 

Cas barely managed to slip away, trying to balance the pie and run at the same time as Dean fought his way around the kitchen table and into the living room, chasing Cas. They circled one another, the couch between them and Dean had both of his arms raised, ready to reach out and snag whatever he could get at.

“Ohhhh, you are in so much trouble when I get my hands on you…” Dean said lowly and Cas licked his lips suggestively, still fighting a grin. 

“Oh, really?”

He darted for the stairs. Dean met him half way up, and Cas let out a sound of surprise as Dean grabbed him around the middle. Cas held the pie plate up and the fork, trying to wiggle out of Dean’s grip, but Dean had him. Cas sank to sitting on the stairs, successfully escaping Dean’s arms, and turned - his legs on either side of Dean as he stood above him, staring down at Cas who laughed and took another forkful of pie and shoved it into his mouth. Dean crouched over him, and grabbed his hair and Cas groaned enthusiastically around the mouthful of cherries and cold crust. 

“It’s so good,” he told Dean.

“Oh, it is? So good?”

Cas nodded, laughing at the absurdity, swallowing.

“It’s so fucking good. You want some?”

Dean didn’t have any time to respond, because Cas was already slapping cherry pie onto his face.

“You little fuck!” Dean hissed, his tongue automatically going out to try and get some of the syrup off of him.

Cas leaned his head back into the palm of Dean’s hand where it was still looped in Cas’ hair, laughing his ass off. Dean took his hand away and pinned Cas to the stairs. Cas gave him a shit eating grin and reached up to swipe at Dean’s cheek before sucking his thumb back into his mouth, smirking around it.

“You had something on your face.”

“Oh, really?” Dean said, pushing his face towards Cas’. Cas nodded, eyes already closing, lips already meeting Dean’s. He had to break away to laugh some more, but Dean pursued his mouth, sliding them together, panting a little as he forced Cas’s mouth open.

After a moment, Cas leaned his head back against the stairs and smiled at him, the pie plate and fork still held in his hand.

“You really missed out. It was really good pie,” he commented and Dean stepped back. 

“Get your ass upstairs.”

Cas’s lips twisted into a wicked smile.

“You want me to clean you up?” he teased, pushing up with his feet so that he slid up a few inches. Dean stared down at him.

“You’re damn right I’m making you clean this shit up.”

“Oh, I’d  _love_  to see you try to make me do anything,” Cas growled, flipping and racing up the few feet, skidding into the bedroom, Dean hot on his heels.


	32. waterfalls*

When Cas looks at them he sees the robins that like to shake their feathers out in puddles of water at the base of their gutter drain. They flap their arms, his little birds, and screech at the cold water, their skin milky white from a winter inside. He rocks back and forth on the porch swing, the glass of sun tea he holds sweating against his palm.  Dean stands off to the side, waxing the Impala, his shoulders pale, but Cas knows by the end of the day they’ll be starting to go pink. Dean never wears sunscreen because he’s already survived this long, so what is the sun going to do about it? Cas smiles to himself and glances at the bottle of banana boat they’d slathered on two wiggling children. Dean had made sure he got everywhere, even the tips of their ears and the tops of their squirming feet. Cas figures it was moot – they’ve already washed it off in the sprinkler that fans water across the lawn, but there’s aloe vera in the medicine cupboard.

Faith giggles and tries to press her hands in front of her face to keep the water from hitting it and Danny cups his hands and forces a jet down before letting it shoot back up. He plays the streams like an imaginary harp and Cas squeezes his fingers around the base of his glass.

The sun hits the water and casts rainbows over their heads and they shimmer in between, invisible to them, but ribboning beautifully across Cas’s view. Droplets halo their brown heads in a haze of white and Cas smiles and Polly suns herself a few feet away, an ear twitching as she watches the little ones. In a sudden moment, Danny turns and Faith turns with him and they stare at Cas. Danny opens his arms in the same way that he would open them for his son.  
  


“Papa! Come play!” He shouts and Dean looks up from his car to glance over his shoulder. Cas stalls for a moment. He isn’t used to being asked to play. He’s never  _been_  a child. He almost wants to point to himself, to touch his chest and say ‘who me?’ the way they do on television shows. Faith runs through the sprinkler, her face shiny with water, a glaze of joy. Nervously he stands, the porch swing bumping against the back of his legs. He sheds his shirt, left only in his jeans and steps down off the porch to the grass. It itches his bare feet and little shreds stick to his heels, but he starts walking to them, Faith comes running. He swoops her up, kisses her, and then sets her back down and she runs through the sprinkler.  He stands on one side, watching her as the water parts for a split second and then she reemerges, screaming with joy, on the other side and he can feel the faint imprint where her wet naked upper half had been pressed against his chest, her little sun warmed body so close to his heart.  Danny giggles and does the same; the water fans around him and then he’s crossed over.

Cas watches them between the gaps of the streams as they watch him expectantly. He stares at them, shifting, their forms blurred by the water.

“You gonna run through it?” Danny asks and Faith rubs at her water logged hair.

Cas is afraid, for a second, that maybe, when he steps through the other side the spell will finally break, that they won’t be there when he walks through the curtain of water.

The sun spears between his shoulder blades and the top of his head.

He smiles, jumps through.

They shout with joy, and do it again, until he chases and they run; he runs, they follow. Around the yard, Polly up and nipping at his heels, herding her humans, and Cas tripping over his wet jeans that are starting to slide off, soaked with water. When Danny nearly pantses him he’s laughing so hard he can’t breathe - and it’s scary and wonderful to be swallowing the sun instead of staring into it, to be falling and tumbling into the grass, landing on arms that will probably bruise with the impacts but will always get up again. The drops that come to him aren’t pitfalls, they are covered in little hands and legs and fingers in his hair and bright little eyes staring down on him with such happiness and gratefulness that he is there. Another pair of eyes that watch him from the sidelines, eyes that wouldn’t let him get hurt again. Not like before.

The grass stains on his clothes are like promises that will always be kept.

Dean brings them towels as the sun starts to go down and carries Faith inside when she fusses, Danny and Cas following to stand dripping in the laundry room. Cas rubs a towel over Danny’s body, frizzes, his hair, kisses all over his face. Little arms go around his neck and he picks Danny up, his little brown eyes peeking out behind his towel, staring at him and tilting his head.

“Papa?”

“Hmm?” Cas says, throwing his jeans into the washer, his boxers wet and sticking to him.

Danny pushes his hair back and smiles.

“I’m glad you picked Daddy and that you picked us.”

Cas stops in the doorway and stares at his son, his arms instinctively tightening under Danny’s legs.

“What do you mean?” He asks quietly and Danny smiles, plays with another strand of Cas’s hair.

“Daddy said you picked him. You picked him up from the ground like a flower!”

Cas shakes his head, slowly, side to side.

“No, you see…” He starts, and he drops his voice to a whisper, leaning against the doorframe into the hall. Just past them, in the kitchen, Dean is dressing Faith and his big hands hold her so gently.

“…Daddy was a seed, and I had to make sure he grew into a big tree.” He begins, Danny staring at him in the growing twilight. “So when I fell down – a long way down – he would be big enough to catch me.”

“Did he catch you?” Danny asks and Cas leans in, as if to tell him a secret.

“He catches me every time.”

One day, Cas will be gone and he won’t come back. He’ll have to push his little bird out of the nest. But he’ll make sure they can really fly – and if they can’t, he’ll be right there waiting, with arms open, right by Dean, to catch the way he was taught to so many times.


	33. after school special*

“Faith, c'mere.”

“What?”

“Just  _c'mere_  would you?”

“What is it?”

“C'mere.”

“ _Daddy…_ come on! I’ve gotta get ready I’m going to the movies!”

“You can spare a friggin’ second, now come here.”

“I’m too big to sit on this chair with you, you realize that, right?”

“You’re never too big to sit with your dad, now get your sorry self over here and watch this baseball game with me or I’ll kick your butt.”

“ _Fine_.”

Faith climbed onto the recliner, and curled all 5'5" of herself onto Dean’s lap, her head knocking his until she wiggled down,  finally situated on his shoulder.

“How are we doing?” She asked quietly, Dean’s arm coming around her, patting her thigh.

“Good - other guys are down by two, so we’ll see if we can hold em’ this inning.”

She smiled in approval and the door slammed towards the back of the house and both of them listened to the familiar sound of Danny slinging his soccer bag into the laundry room.

“Take your shoes off!” Dean hollered, and Faith rolled her eyes, yawning.

“Yeah!” Danny yelled back, and there was a rattle as he threw them against the baseboard in the hallway and Dean stiffened.

“Hey! Watch it! You’ll scuff the paint!” Dean said loudly, grumbling, “Kid’s a bull in a fuckin’ china shop…”

Faith giggled and rubbed her eye, pulling it back to make sure no mascara had come off.

“Hey, watch your mouth!” She chastised, slinging her legs over the arm of the chair, stretching them out.

“Shut up.” Dean teased, pinching her, relishing the squeal she gave, laughing.

Danny moved to the kitchen, flinging open the refrigerator.

“Hey, monkey, you drink my powerade?” Daniel called over his shoulder, addressing his sister. Faith scoffed and rolled her head dramatically against Dean’s shoulder.

“Oh my god it’s  _Faith_  would you stop calling me that!”

“Did you drink my powerade or didn’t you?” Danny said, growing irritated.

“ _NO,_ ” She stressed, “did you actually even look?”

“Yeah - oh! Wait I got it!”

Faith rolled her eyes and picked at her fingernail.

“I’m allowed to call you monkey, right?” Dean said, poking her and Faith smiled, kissing him on the cheek. 

“Yeah, but you’re my  _dad_.”

“Good.”

“But not in public.” She amended and Dean laughed.

“Oh,  _I’m so doing it in public_.”

Faith was about to protest when Daniel interrupted them yet again.

“Game still on?” he asked as he strolled into the living room and flung himself onto the couch, untwisting the cap on the blue sport’s drink.

“You get that on anything and Papa’s gonna kill you.” Faith stage whispered from her perch on Dean’s lap. Danny smirked and took a long drink, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

“Oh my god  _have some class_.”

“Do you just nag all the time? Like, is it something you  _have_  to do? Like breathing? Faith, will you die if you don't  nag me?” Daniel said back, taking another long drink and Faith lurched forward, only stopped by Dean’s arm around her midsection.

“Daniel, get your feet off of my coffee table.” Dean barked and Faith sighed, leaning back down into her Dad’s lap. Daniel reluctantly removed his feet and then focused on the game. A few minutes later the three let out a collective yell as the team scored a double play, basically insuring their victory.

An hour and a half later Cas opened the back door and scraped Daniel’s shoes out of the way like he did basically every time he came in. He was astounded at how quiet the house was, but when he entered the living room it was clear why.

All three of them were completely asleep and Cas had to chuckle when he saw Danny with his mouth open and his arm flung over his face, not even changed out of his practice uniform, all of his 17 year old body stretched over the couch and his feet hanging off of the end. Then there was Faith, awkwardly turned in towards Dean’s chest, her leg stiffly hanging off the arm of the recliner, her bare toes twitching and her long brown hair caught in her eyelash, Dean’s own head thrown back, gone, his fingers holding Faith’s shoulder loosely.

The post-game commentary babbled on the TV as Cas draped a blanket over Danny and kissed him at his hairline.

“Hey…?” Danny breathed, waking up for a moment, and Cas petted his hair, whispering at  him to go back to sleep. “What’s f’ dinner?” Danny blearily asked, Cas rolling his eyes before leaning down to pinch his son’s cheek.

“Trout and some other stuff.”

“MM…” Danny mumbled, rolling back into the couch, pressing his face in the side and twisting the blanket around his body. Cas looked at the ceiling for a moment and then smiled, going into the kitchen to start on said dinner, grabbing the empty powerade bottle on his way. 


	34. doxology

Some mornings Dean wakes to an empty bed and a vibration in the air.

He lies still in the bed, breathing, letting his body catch up, and is surrounded by the faint chords of Cas at the piano.

They bought it on a whim at an estate sale forty miles away, Castiel fascinated by its old yellowed keys and the rich tone it produced, teetering indefinitely between in tune and out. He is clumsy, his fingers not complying, and though they’ve never really discussed it, Dean feels as though he was once very proficient when he was an Angel, but now, human and reduced, he sits and plunks out the notes with hesitance that grows into a steady confidence after a while.

 _We were equipped to worship in many forms_. Castiel would probably say about his unnatural talent, infused with Grace.

Now though, the piano seems to warm the house with its music, but perhaps the very best is when Dean closes his eyes and listens so carefully for the voice just above the instrument.

Cas sings the hymns soft and low and reverent, the ones he must know by heart from millenniums of singing them. Some Dean recognizes, others he doesn’t. Sometimes Cas slips into Hebrew, other times the bits of Enochian that Cas can recall on his best days.

Today, Dean finds himself mouthing the words along with Cas a song he heard long ago – words he had forgotten.

_“Holy, Holy, Holy…”_

Dean thinks on this – how Cas might even have seen the very composers, divinely inspired, when they laid the notes to these long-sung songs in dusty churches, meant for those old people in stiff clothing, holding their hymnals – how Castiel must have looked on them and smiled. Found beauty and goodness.

How it must feel to play them at the piano in the early morning, the light from those bay windows illuminating the blank stand – Cas never uses sheet music.

A sweet and sorrowful secret is how it must be for Cas; for  _Castiel_.

Dean sings along, just barely, following the chords, fumbling with the lyrics.

He never interrupts, though, but leaves Cas to it in his pajamas, rocking with the motions of the pedals like a ship moored in the bay while the others are out of sea.


	35. picnic

They eat their first dinner in their new house on the floor. Dean spreads an old sheet on the hardwood and Cas dumps fruit in a steel pot because they haven’t bought bowls yet. They sit in the light from the big bay windows (the ones Cas fell in love with) and watch the sun go down, eating pizza and wings on paper towels, nibbling on the fruit. Cas smiles the whole time and when Dean asks all Cas can say is that “it’s theirs”. The food in the new fridge the cans in the pantry, the spaces marked for furniture, the bedding set waiting to be broken in upstairs. Theirs. Dean grins at him over his pizza and Cas gently reaches out to wipe sauce off of his cheek, fingers lingering. “Mine.” Cas adds, rocking forward to kiss him. Dean let’s himself be spread out on the clear end of the sheet, laughing while the sun paints their downstairs a vibrant warm orange. “Yours.” he murmurs as Cas kisses him for each freckle on his face.


	36. merry christmas*

“Ok, we’re off!” Cas says, holding the door open as Daniel darts out the door. Dean waves to them from the kitchen table where he is currently trying to coax Faith into eating left over grilled chicken and squash.

“Drive safe!” He calls back and Cas smiles and nods before turning quickly so no snow gets inside. Once the door latches Faith looks up at him with food on her face and big doe-eyes blinking expectantly.

“Where they go?” She says between bites of chicken, ketchup on her fingers. Dean doesn’t bother wiping her hands, knowing she’ll just get more on her once he’s done. He settles for brushing the fine baby-hairs off of her forehead and tucking them behind her tiny little ear. She chomps her chicken and continues to stare at him. “Da! Where they  _go_!” She stresses again and Dean gets right in her face, his hand now settled on her small head.

“Papa took Danny to his school so he could practice for the recital tonight.” He tells her and she noshes on her chicken and then picks up a piece of squash and eats that too. A thoughtful look comes over her face.

“Where they go!”

“The recital.” He repeats, leaning back in his chair, watching her eat. She picks up her milk and downs that, and then blows a big breath out and he laughs, which makes her laugh too.

“Done?” He asks, pulling the plate towards his placemat, and she nods enthusiastically, but picks up her milk again, taking another long drag and then breathing heavily again, grinning when it makes Dean laugh like it does every time. Cas says she does it because that’s what Dean does after a long day – he takes a drink and sighs and she picked up on it. Dean doesn’t care where it came from, it’s just about the cutest thing ever – well, everything Faith does is the cutest thing ever. She smacks her lips and wipes her mouth with her napkin harshly and he just grins and shakes her head at her. “You ready for your bath? We gotta get changed for the recital tonight, so we can look really good for your brother.”

He comes to the booster seat and helps her out of it and sets her down on the ground and she takes off running for the stairs.

“Woah!” He yells, striding quickly to catch up with her. He knew he should have rinsed her plate before letting her out, but it’s almost six and the recital starts at seven thirty.  _Recital and Tree-trimming_  Dean reminds himself because Daniel isn’t there to do it. Their son takes it all very seriously, so Dean and Cas have tried their best to respect it by remembering the event’s full title.

“Come on monkey!” Dean says as he scoops her into his arms half way up the staircase, which makes her shriek and thrash a bit before giving in. He helps her out of her day clothes and into the tub she goes, disgruntled that he has to untangle her long brown hair, but happy to play with Daniel’s pirate bath toy without him complaining about it.

“ARGH!” Dean says, pushing the boat as she squeaks the rubber parrot toy and makes some kind of awful, hysterical, bird noise to accompany it. He backs off as she splashes her hands in the water, so Dean quickly gives her a wash cloth doused with soap for her to rub on her arms and on her belly.

“Good job!” He tells her as she rinses with the big cup, squealing when Dean uses it to get the shampoo out of her hair, plastering it to her forehead and her face. Keeping an eye on the time, he pulls the plug in the tub and lifts her out and towels her off, relishing the muffled laughs she produces when he covers her face with the big fluffy towel and asks casually where his baby girl went.

“Here!” She cries, popping out and Dean makes his most surprised face.

“THERE YOU ARE! I missed you!” He says and she collapses onto his chest; luckily the towel keeps him from getting too wet.

“Ok, come on monkey, into our nice clothes – we got 30 minutes, so cooperate!” He hangs the towel up and she scampers to her room, butt naked and making her parrot noises. He follows and pulls out the clothes that Cas mentioned she should wear and lays them out on the bed as she fiddles with one of her stuffed animals.  “C’mere!” He tells her, sitting on the edge of her bed and moving her clothes to beside him. She skips to him and leans on his knees as she steps into her underwear and then the undershirt he helps her with, her little baby tummy round and sticking out. He blows a raspberry on her cheek and she pushes his faces away, giggling like mad, and then let’s Dean shimmy her into one of her three Christmas dresses. This one is green and red plaid with gold threads that shine when she moves, and a big poufy crinoline skirt underneath. Dean reaches onto her dresser for her brush and turns her around so that she’s leaning between his legs and begins to brush her hair, working from the bottom up the way Cas taught him to get all the tangles out.

As he brushes he can’t help but love the way the bottom waves and then eventually settles into curls. Then it’s the specific bow Cas put out because they’ve tried to have Dean pick before and he’s  _god awful_  at it. Shoes and socks and Dean shakes his head at the very notion that at some point in his natural life he’d be putting white shocks and mary janes on a three year old on the way to his eight year old’s school tree trimming extravaganza or what not.

He snaps her shoes and they are ready to go. Dean, thankfully, is allowed to wear jeans (they’re his  _nice_  ones, Cas had already made sure of that) and some kind of sports coat thing Sam got him last year for his birthday just for things like this. They’re on their way out the door, bundled up, and Faith playing with the end of Dean’s scarf as he hauls her towards the Impala when Dean’s phone buzzes and he pulls it out and slips it in between his ear and shoulder, opening the Impala door while he straps Faith into the car seat in the back.

“Please tell me you are out the door? Your son is about to have a nervous breakdown…” Cas begins and Dean smiles reassuringly, hoping Cas can feel it through the phone.

“Yeah, we’re just about to hit the road – Faith can you click that sweetheart? Yeah we’re about to leave.”

“Okay, good. I’ve got the camera…”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean tells Cas, even though he knows that he’s just speaking out loud to remind himself. Cas says something to someone and then focuses on Dean again, and Dean can hear in the background the chatter of parents and children and some kind of distorted Christmas song.

“We’ll be there in like, 15.” Dean says as he backs expertly out of the driveway, cranking the heater on full blast. Faith sings something behind him that he can’t make out and Cas laughs, hearing it as well.

“Danny is very excited, so make sure you tell Faith to be excited too. He wants to impress us all.”

“She’s excited!” Dean says, glancing at her in the rear view mirror, the wipers on against the snow beginning to pillow down. “Ain’t ya’ monkey?”

She looks up and claps her hands together. Dean sticks his tongue at her and then goes back to the road, traffic blessedly light for the time of day.

“Ok, well, I saved us seats up front, so I’ll see you when I get here. Love you…love you Faith!”

“Love you too…” Dean pulls the phone and holds it at the back seat.

“PAPA!”  Faith crows, and then Dean says goodbye and I love you one more time for the two of them to clarify before hanging up.

**

The school’s cafeteria- turned-auditorium is packed with kids and parents, but thankfully Cas is wearing red, so it’s easier to spot him and there, beside him, is an empty chair, seemingly for Dean, Faith to occupy their laps to save room. Cas is messing with the camcorder and looks up when Dean sits down and situates Faith on his knees. Faith gets the first kiss, but she deserves it with how pretty she looks and though Dean is reluctant to let her he allows her to cross over to Cas’s lap and settle there, watching everything with wonder.

Dean gets his kiss too, but it’s quick as Cas goes back to messing with the camera and Dean can look around at the pulled curtain on the stage and the giant, bare, Christmas tree that sits beside it, ready and waiting.

“Daniel made an ornament for all of us, so we get to put them up too.” Cas says with a smile.

“Ahh.” Dean responds, putting an arm around the back of Castiel’s chair so he can rub Cas’s shoulder and neck. “So, do we go up with him, like last year?”

Cas nods, not looking up from the view screen on their camcorder.

“Yes, when they call first grade after his song, we will go up.”

“Up?” Faith pipes in and Dean tugs on one of her long curls from behind.

“Yep. To trim the tree!”

“Chwistmas twee!” She repeats before looking around rapidly, wiggling around.

“Faith, hold on…” Cas says absently, furrowing his brow and holding the camera up. Dean chuckles.

“What is it monkey?” Dean prompts his daughter and she makes a worried face.

“Where’s bwotha?” She whines and Dean puts a hand on her middle to quit her wiggling so much.

“He’s gonna be up on the stage, baby doll. He’s gonna sing to you!”

“Sing to me?” Her eyes go wide and Dean nods.

“Yeah!”

She bounces up and down and Cas shakes his head, laughing softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to her head before looking back up at the camcorder, testing the zoom.

A moment later, the principle of the elementary school takes the stage and welcomes the parents and faculty alike, smiling and introducing the several mother’s on the hospitality team who helped coordinate before going on to kick off the recital. Dean and Cas sit through two kindergarten classes before finally, Mrs. Raven’s first grade class is announced and Dean grins and Cas does too, holding up the camera.

“Okay, Faith, look, there’s brother!” Cas says and Faith squeals.

“Nee! Nee!” She cries and then Cas and Dean shush her because the kids are filing onto the stage and standing in front of the standing microphones. Some of them look like they could throw up from nerves, but Dean is too delighted that Daniel is staring straight at them and grinning like a maniac. He waves to the camera and Faith squeals again like mad, clambering into Dean’s lap to see better. Dean bounces her on his legs as she says her shortened version of ‘Danny’ over and over, whispering it when Dean tells her to be extra quiet.

Then, Daniel looks to Mrs. Raven who kneels in the middle aisle and cues the sound guy. All of a sudden, music pours from the speakers and all the kids stand at attention. Dean feels his smile making his cheeks sore as he realizes that they are all wearing  matching white t-shirts with big green painted things on them made from what appears to be their hand prints. Daniel claps his hands in time with the music and the whole class choruses in on ‘Happiest Christmas Tree’, which explains why Daniel has been singing it nonstop for nearly a week.

It’s pretty hysterical, actually. Their hand motions are uncoordinated and choppy and only half seem to know the actual lyrics, but they all shout the song as loud as they can and after a minute even all the nervous ones are smiling, but Daniel’s is the brightest for Dean and Cas. It’s adorable and Dean is beside himself as Daniel performs the motions, glancing at their section every once and a while to smile extra big, his face flushed with excitement. Faith tries to do the motions too, and fails, settling for just clapping when she can, and staring in awe at her big brother when she can’t.

The end of the song comes too soon and everyone applauds before the families of Mrs. Raven’s class stand and shuffle in a line to greet their children.

Daniel plows into Cas who hugs him and Dean ruffles his hair, both enthusiastically telling their son how proud they are of him.

“Fay-Fay did you like it?” Daniel says, staring at his sister who squirms and begs to be let down from Dean’s arms. When he does she goes straight to Daniel and hugs him, hanging on his side.

“You sang for me!” She croons, “Bwother sang for me!”

“Yeah, I guess…” Daniel blushes, and Cas pulls Daniel’s ornaments out for them to hang. Dean’s is a reindeer made from a cut out of Daniel’s foot print and his hands too, its lopsided googly eyes too perfect for Dean to really explain at the moment. Cas’s is a big angel with glitter glue wings that makes him a little misty eyed as he carefully holds it, and Faith’s is a snow person made from cotton balls and felt.

“Show her how to hang it up…” Dean says, pushing Daniel towards the big tree when it’s their turn, and Daniel takes Faith’s hand and leads her to it, showing her how to loop the string around a branch. She does it clumsily, and he helps her, and then Cas, and Dean, mimicking their children, hang them in a nice little group together.

“Smile!” A teachers says and they all turn towards the camera, huddled close, Daniel and Faith in front, and Cas and Dean pushed together as more people flock towards the tree behind them. They smile though, and Cas says he’ll have to get copies of that to send to Bobby when it’s over.

They file back to their seats and Dean sits with his children shared between Cas and his laps, watching the rest of the program run its course. Cas leans into him and Daniel moves his arm so Faith can scoot under it and put her thumb in her mouth, watching the rest of the students perform.

When it’s done, on the way out of the parking lot, Daniel stops Dean before he buckles Faith in and tugs on his jacket.

“You like it Daddy?” He asks bashfully and Dean hauls him into his arms and spins him around.

“It was the best! You were the best one there!” He nearly shouts and Daniel wraps his arms around Dean’s neck and buries himself there.

“Papa says we’ll watch it at Christmas with Uncle Sammy and Grampa. You think they’ll like it?”

“They’ll  _love_  it, little man.” Dean assures him, planting a kiss on his cheek before setting him down. Cas kisses Dean.

“See you at home.” Cas whispers to him before Daniel drags him off to his own car.

“See you at home.” Dean repeats, his heart swelling as he looks back down at Faith. He chuckles quietly and bends down to kiss her, smoothing the hair out of her face again. “Monkey…” He says sweetly, her rosy cheek on her shoulder, fast asleep.

He climbs into the Impala and starts it.

They go  _home_.


	37. the good side

“Do you even know how to use that?” Dean said as they walked down the sidewalk. 

Cas fiddled with the camera in his hands and frowned at it. 

“No.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes and slung his arm around Cas’s shoulders, drawing him closer so he wouldn’t walk straight into the lamp post in their path. They had just come from dinner and had tossed around the idea of heading to the bar up the street before deciding that the weather was nice enough to stroll in the park instead. 

Cas raised the view finder to his eye and clicked the shutter on the sleek silver top experimentally. Dean sighed and reached for it, only to have Cas stop walking and lean back, away from Dean’s grabbing fingers.

“You can’t take pictures in the dark without the flash on, stupid.” Dean commented, still swiping for the camera. Cas evaded and smacked the persistent hand out of his face, his frown deepening. 

“Stop! I’m trying to figure it out!”

“Didn’t Sam give you a manual?” Dean asked, letting his arms drop back to his sides before shoving his hands into his pockets. Cas shook his head, turning his head towards Dean, eye still glued to the camera. 

“No - they misplaced it when they moved into the new place…” He sighed, and pulled the camera down and stared at it, clicking the buttons on the side. Dean watched him with an amused expression, noting the way the digital screen lit up and cast a blue-white glow on Cas’s features as he thumbed through the settings and menus, still standing in the middle of the sidewalk. 

“The flash should be on the top somewhere. It looks like a jagged arrow.”

“Shut up." 

Dean laughed, head back, and began to sidle away, staring at the dark trees and the duck pond, all the geese standing with their heads tucked under their wings, sleeping. 

Cas found the right button and tried again, this time able to actually see the picture he’d taken. 

He looked up and realized Dean was a few feet ahead of him and jogged the short distance to get back to walking beside him. 

"You get it?” Dean said, smirking, and it was Cas’s turn to roll eyes eyes and elbow him in the ribs, Dean’s teasing laughter echoing off of the trees and the ornamental rocks of the park. 

“Yes, I  _got_  it, ass.” Cas smiled back, holding the camera up. Dean looked straight ahead, his smugness relaxed into a content smile. He reached out and playfully shoved at Cas’s head, ruffling his hair, and then pulled him in again, arm around his shoulder. Cas smiled to himself and aimed the camera at the side of Dean’s face. Dean glanced at him and Cas took his free hand and shoved his face forward. 

“I’m figuring out how to use the zoom.” He said, smirking, and Dean chuckled and looked straight ahead. 

“Make sure you get my good side…” He drawled, and Cas snorted.

“You don’t have a good side.” He joked after a moment of more fiddling, “But this one will have to do.”

“So sorry.” Dean teased, blinking the spots out of his eyes when the flash finally went off. Cas quickly hit the button and scanned the photograph, smiling triumphantly. 

“Excellent.” He remarked and he and Dean stepping in time again. There was a huge spot of glare from the guard rail by the path, protecting the walkers from slipping down the sharp bank on the other side, leading down to the pond, but other than that Cas was extremely satisfied by his subject. He quickly saved it to the memory card the way Sam had showed him, looking up in surprise only as Dean once again tugged him out of the way of a lamp post, herding him back towards his body. 

“It turn out?”

“Yes." 

Dean nodded once, still smiling, his fist curled loosely on the fabric of Cas’s jacket. They settled into silence. Dean rolled his other arm around and turned to Cas.

"You know how to tell the temperature by crickets?”

Cas stared increduously at him and then he tilted his head, curious.

“No, how?”

“Ok, well, the first thing you do is - ”

Cas watched Dean as he started to explain and his fingers tightened over the camera. It really had turned out, hadn’t it?


	38. fever*

“That was quick, no traffic?” Castiel says it with only half-interest as Dean opens the door, eyes fixed on the thermometer in his pale fingers, displeasure written all over his face.

“It still going up?” Dean answers gruffly, taking it from Castiel as he moves to steal the bags from the drugstore haul from Dean’s outstretched arms.

“Just went off at 100.” Cas replies, just as Dean reads over the numbers, placing it over by the sink as a little body bumps against him.  “Danny’s too…”

“Hey big guy.” He says as Danny wraps his arms around his waist. “You feelin’ crummy?”

Danny nods, silent, his swollen eyes pressed shut. “Mmyeah.”

Dean rubs the back of his head and Danny coughs and whines.

“Danny come here so I can give this to you…” Cas says distantly, watching Faith with one eye and measuring out more of the over-the-counter cough syrup with the other, having wasted no time in fishing it out of the plastic bags that Dean has brought in. Its seven o’clock at night and what Dean pushed off as just allergies the day before is a full-fledged  _sick_  for both of them. Faith sits dazed and uncomfortable on the counter, rubbing her face, her hair matted down her back, sporting the same pj’s she’s worn since yesterday. Danny isn’t in much better shape. He pulls away from Dean and goes to Cas, standing beside him, humming another low whine, scrubbing at his stuffy nose. Faith coughs and it’s wet and nasty and Dean’s heard that cough and knows it’ll take at least a week for it to leave completely.

Dean frowns, digging for the kid’s Motrin for their fevers now that he’s not holding a sick child – its orange liquid and he can remember having to take it when he was their ages and how he hated it. He pops the plastic ring off the top and unscrews it. He pours out Danny’s serving before setting Faith’s beside Casl’s busy hands. Cas checks the dosage one last time on the purple bottle he’s currently holding and then moves to brush Faith’s bangs out of her eyes. She moves her head away and Cas puts strong fingers under her chin, looking distressed when Faith keens, all congested and pathetic sounding. Danny takes his himself, holding his nose and frowning. He sticks his tongue out and then puts the little plastic cup on the counter with a heavy sigh.  

“Here, I’ll give you some juice after you take it, ok? To get the taste out – Dean, can you get that juice she likes?” Castiel sounds as tired as Faith is, and it makes sense because Dean’s been gone all day doing the whole mechanic thing, and Cas’s been taking care of a sick child.

“Yeah.” Dean hustles to the refrigerator as Cas tips the medicine down Faith’s throat, and then goes for the Motrin next. Faith wails and Dean can already hear the tears starting and Cas is talking to her in that really-low voice, and it makes Dean feel like there’s cement mixing in his gut. Seeing Sammy sick always hurt and this is no different. He pours the juice into her favorite blue cup before stepping back towards him, waiting as she drinks the rest of her medicine and cries, Cas taking the cup without thinking. He hands it to her, stroking her hair, looking troubled. Danny leans on his elbow, staring up at his baby sister with the same concern.

“It’s ok monkey, no more medicine.” Danny tells her, his nasally voice trying to be light. He tickles her leg and Faith manages a wet giggle.

“Danny’s right. You did really well. You did so well.” Cas encourages, and Faith just greedily drinks the juice and then shoves it away, looking flushed and upset despite the praise.

“Monkey’s feelin really bad, isn’t she papa.” Danny comments and Dean nods.

“My poor little birds.” Cas says quietly, sounding equally as miserable as the kids his voice stuffed with worry. Cas lifts Faith up off the counter and starts rubbing her back; she goes limp and still except for the little hiccups and struggling breaths she emits every few seconds. She coughs, and Cas doesn’t even seem to notice, except to wince in pain at the sound. Danny gravitates back to Dean, turning around to lean his back against Dean’s legs, watching Cas rock Faith. He scratches at his stomach under his jammies and Dean strokes the sides of his face and his hot forehead.

“Daddy I’m tired.” Danny wheezes after a moment, nuzzling his face into Dean’s hand.

“I know sugar.” Dean says gruffly back, looking up at Cas. “You gonna handle her?” He asks and Cas adjusts her in his arms while she hugs his neck, making another miserable sound. Polly watches them from under the kitchen table, her ears pricking in their direction.

“I don’t know how we’re going to get her down.” Cas whispers. “She hasn’t slept at all today, and you know she didn’t last night either. She was coughing too much, and she wouldn’t settle, even when I went in there.” Dean watches him tiredly press his head on Faith’s, and he unconsciously starts doing it – the swaying thing. Back and forth, whenever he holds her, just twisting his hips side to side, and she huffs in response. It’s true – with Dean working the next day, Cas had gotten up to lay with her, but she had coughed and cried and carried on until morning where she drifted in a stupor for hours, shivery and sick. Dean watches the movement that Cas always does, one undeterred even by his tiredness, before the idea dawns on him.

“The Impala.”

The reaction is expected, Castiel’s face goes from irritation to just blank, as if Dean has said something so stupid he can’t be bothered to be even remotely surprised. He just stares at Dean, daring him to continue.  Dean does, with confidence.

“When Sammy was little my Dad would drive him around in the Impala when he wouldn’t go down. Worked like a charm.”

Castiel seems to consider this and Faith stirs, whimpering, and Cas can feel his resolve crumbling because he’s exhausted and worried.

“Ok.” He breathes, before stopping, almost reconsidering, but not really. It’s more of a qualifier what he says next. “But she needs a bath – they both do. And we’ll put some of that rub on their chests, and they have got to get out of these clothes…I should have had them change earlier but I was tired and I wasn’t thinking…”

Dean steps forward, Danny walking with him, and kisses Cas firmly over Faith’s head.

“Relax.” He whispers. “Relax, Cas.”

Cas nods and then Dean is pulling Faith out of his arms, though she is whining, but doesn’t seem to be bothered when she’s snuggled into Dean’s shoulder.

“I’ll take care of that, go eat something. Have you eaten today?”

Danny holds his free hand and keeps rubbing his red-rimmed eyes with the back of his other.

Cas doesn’t respond, moving to rummage through the cabinets, already on auto-pilot. Dean watches for a moment before Faith leans her groggy head back.

“Daddy? Can I have a bath? I feel bad.” She croaks and Dean looks down and kisses her gently on the side of the head, carrying her upstairs.

“Yeah monkey, you and Danny too.”

Danny doesn’t even complain about the prospect of it and as he dumps them both into the tub they both seem too groggy to protest as he helps them wash off all the sick of the day. When he helps them back out they smell heavenly – baby shampoo and that sweet smell of their body wash as he mops water off of them with towels.

Danny dresses slowly in his room, stepping sleepily into his pajamas and coat and boots while Dean helps Faith into her nightie and a sweater that he buttons up and socks too because it’s freezing outside. She puts her feet into them with a tiny smile, spreading her toes because they are her favorite colors: yellow and blue stripe.

 “We gonna go drive?” She slurs, coughing and Dean covers her mouth with the towel he used to dry her hair, but she shakes it off when he tries to wipe her face, her little nose red and raw, her eyes all weepy.

“Yeah, we’re gonna go drive a little bit. You wanna do that?” He says straightening the sweater a little more. She nods and then pads to Danny’s room, swaying on her feet.

She takes her big brothers hand and he lets her lead him to the stairs where they climb down carefully, still gripping each other’s fingers. Dean follows behind them, not bothered it takes them twice as long this way.

When they reach the bottom Cas is waiting in a jacket, holding Dean’s, the headlights of the Impala shining into the house from the front drive.

“My little birds feeling better after your bath?”

 “Yeah.” Faith responds, walking straight into Castiel’s waiting arms, Danny waiting to hold Dean’s hand again, snuffling. The house smells like the soup Cas made while Dean was busy playing bath monitor, and only a few lights are on. The four make their way to the Impala, sliding in, and the heater is blasting, the legos in the vents rattling around. Castiel closes the door, one arm around Faith’s back as they settle back into the give of the leather, the other around Danny who is draped halfway onto his lap, leaning on his sister who is too tired to complain. Dean eases her out of the driveway, fishing for a radio station, settling for Christmas Carols because it’s November, and turns the volume down to a low hum. The old-version of Silent Night comes on, and a Bing Crosby number, and out of the corner of his eye Dean can see that Castiel’s eyes are closed too as he bundles Faith against his chest in a huge quilt they’d bought at an antique sale a few months back (yes. They are  _those_  people now.).  He rocks, even now, just at his waist, back and forth and she stares at Dean and the landscape out the window with cracked eyes, but as they drive, Dean sees her eyes droop with the lull of the engine and the sound of the wheels. Cas’s other hand is busy smoothing Danny’s cheek and hair over and over in slow circles, and Dean smiles because Danny is already out like a light only ten feet down their street.

Faith finally falls asleep when they hit halfway through town, and Dean pulls off to u-turn and head back to the house, one arm stretched out over the back of the seat, sliding till he meets Cas’s neck. Cas doesn’t even jump at the way Dean’s hand rubs at the knob of his spine, completely lax. He smiles in contentment, Faith and Danny warm sighing lumps of quilt on his lap, a wonderful weight.

“This was a good idea.” He whispers and Dean breathes a laugh and strokes the fine hair at the base of Cas’s skull.  “For everyone.”

“I’m full of those, you know.” Dean grunts and Cas just breathes his own sighing chuckle.

“Yeah.” He bends his head ever so slightly to nuzzle against Dean’s wrist. “I know.”

Dean smiles.

They get back to the house and Dean parks the Impala and watches Cas take Faith up to bed where Dean hopes she stays properly knocked out, Danny having woken up when they pulled into the driveway, staggering along, Cas’s arm around his shoulders. Dean sets the alarm while he shrugs out of his jacket and makes sure everything is right before he follows, passing the pot of soup forgotten in the sink. He picks up Polly, even though she grumbles a bit before licking at his chin and wagging her little stumpy tail, and carries her to the second floor. Back upstairs they find Danny halfway on the mattress, having collapsed into the pillow with one foot still touching the floor. Polly wiggles and Dean let’s her gently down on Danny’s bed, where she usually sleeps.

He tucks him in properly and kisses him, Danny curling instinctively up around his worn stuffed dog, coughing lightly as Polly crawls up the bed and assumes her usual post tucked into the crook of Danny’s legs.  Dean turns on his moon lamp and closes the door with a creak. He doesn’t want to risk waking Faith, so he passes her door, and continues into he and Cas’s.  He turns the television on low and turns the lights off, twisting tiredly into a thermal and flannel pants. He finds himself just climbing into bed when Cas comes in and immediately sets about brushing his teeth and the rest of his night routine, scratching lazily at his leg for a moment while he takes his clothes off, watching whatever’s on tv. He puts on a sweatshirt and his own pants, knit, and just about collapses beside Dean after a few moments, his legs having given straight out.

“Help.” He half laughs, half whines, as Dean sits up and drags the comforter over him, the two melting together. Cas’s head lands right over Dean’s heartbeat, and he’s still in seconds, and Dean doesn’t mind that it leaves him setting the sleep timer on the TV and stroking Cas’s back under his sweatshirt, the skin warm and smooth.

“I love you.” Cas sighs, awake for a moment, and Dean sinks back into the pillows, yawning.

“Love you.”

Cas flings an arm over him and draws closer.

“That soup was really good.” He mumbles and Dean just shakes his head on the pillow, the remote starting to fall out of his fingers. 

“Was it? Was it progresso or whatever?”

“I don’t remember. I didn’t read the label.”

“Huh.”

Cas starts to breathe deep again, and he knows he’s asleep for real this time, and Dean isn’t far behind him. It’s warm and the TV is on and it’s just about as close to bliss as Dean’s ever gotten, he thinks, even when Cas sighs in sleep and his stubble scratches on his collar bone. Even with two sick kids.

They do alright. 


	39. occupational hazards*

Sometimes, it’s hard.

Really hard.

It’s hard when Dean gets out of the Impala with a limp. He twisted something when his foot went straight through a rotten stair. Almost cost him his life if Sam hadn’t been waiting right at the bottom, covering him. Dean had fallen straight through; fucked up his knee pretty bad along with it. 

He pulls up to their house around four in the afternoon, and he hates doing that because he always has to call Cas ahead of time, make sure the kids are outside. He doesn’t want them to see him like this with a cut over his eyebrow that he didn’t have the time or energy to clean and his leg dragging like a lame dog’s. 

 

He doesn’t want his babies to see daddy like that. 

It’s so much easier if he can show up at night, because then he doesn’t have to worry about things like this. 

“Daddy!”

The front door flies open and Dean stalls halfway up the walk to the front porch as something in a yellow sweater comes leaping down the steps and towards him. 

“Daddy! Daddy!”

Dean braces himself best he can, grimaces, and holds out tired, heavy, arms to stop her. 

“Daddy! Did you bring me something? Did you bring me a present?”

“Woah!” He says, trying to laugh as Faith’s shoulder slams into his palm. He holds her out, away from  him, trying to hide her Uncle’s blood on his shirt with the way his jacket falls, and keep himself from shaking with exhaustion. His ankle screams with a burning pain and he grits his teeth. 

“Daddy?” He looks down at her and loosens his grip on her arm, brings his hand up to cup her cheek. She’s only eight, he reminds himself. She doesn’t get it. She blinks at him, confused, and he rubs his thumb on her face, brushes it just under her eye. 

“Go inside and get Papa, ok?” He rasps and she draws back, and he can tell she’s uneasy about it. She looks at him once over her shoulder before she flicks her brown hair out of her face and goes inside. 

Castiel appears moments later, pushing her gently out of his way.

“Hey.” He says darkly, already zeroing in on the cut and the awkward way Dean is putting his weight on his good leg. He turns around, and gives Faith a stare and she inches back in the house, slinking away like a cat, Polly following her, her dog tags tinkling. 

“I think I sprained something.” Dean says, voice thick. He needs to sleep. He drove all day like an idiot and he’s getting way too old for that. Cas doesn’t reply but helps him drape his arm around his shoulders and helps him up the stairs. He kicks the door shut behind him and Dean looks up just in time to see Danny urging Faith upstairs, his hand on her back. 

_Did the bad guys kill Daddy?_

He hears her tear-thick voice and he feels like his heart is going to shrivel up and fall out of his chest at that. 

_No, stupid, he’s not dead. He’s just tired._

Danny’s sensible voice drifts down after it, all 11 years old and wise in comparison. 

Cas eases him down on the kitchen chair and doesn’t say anything about it. He busies himself with the first aid kit and a tall glass of water for the ibuprofen he gets out first. 

Dean puts his head in his hand and sighs deeply.

Cas helps him upstairs later, and then helps him into the shower, perching on the counter to make sure he doesn’t fall as Dean washes himself off without really caring about the results. He then helps Dean back to bed once he’s dressed, making sure he props his foot up. 

“Try to sleep.” He rumbles, kissing Dean for the first time since he’s gotten home. They kiss for a while, Cas cutting it short to make him lay down. 

“Sleep.” He directs again and Dean laughs weakly, flopping back down, throwing an arm over his eyes. Cas runs an appreciative hand over his stomach and then leaves, the door creaking shut and clicking closed. 

Dean listens to the sound of him going downstairs and the distant clang of him pulling a pot out, probably for the box of kraft macaroni Dean saw sitting out by the stove. 

Dean can’t sleep though, so he stares at the ceiling for a long time until the sound of the door easing open again makes him jerk, shooting up on one elbow, on the defensive. 

“Babydoll, I just heard your Papa call you for dinner.”

“I know.” She sighs, looking at her toes. She plays with the edge of the rug in their bedroom and twists her finger in her hair, a nervous habit she’s had since she was small. Dean knows that - it means she’s trying not to cry. 

“It’s macaroni, your favorite.”

She doesn’t say anything and Dean sits up, wincing at his foot. 

“Don’t cry sugar. Don’t cry.” He whispers to her. “You know Daddy can’t stand to see you cry." 

Her lip quivers and she comes to him, slow as can be, being especially gentle because she knows he’s hurt. He pulls her up on the bed and she lays on top of him and buries her face in his chest. He shushes her and rubs her back over and over. 

"Monkey, come on, it’s ok.” He tells her over and over and she lifts her face from  his t-shirt only to pepper him with kisses. 

“T-they h-hurt your foot. The bad guys. They hurt your foot, I’m sorry they hurt your foot, Daddy.” She chokes, kissing him again, “I’ll make it better. I’ll make it better, Daddy.”

“Oh, baby.” He says, wrapping his arms around her as tight as he can. “Oh, baby, I’m all better now.”

She sobs into his shirt and he wonders what she sees when she thinks bad guys. Maybe bank robbers or the monsters of her imagination; the scary things in books sometimes or on cartoons. Bad people with knives and guns. Who knows. She must imagine them with big claws and sharp teeth digging into his foot, twisting his ankle, swiping at him with their gnarled fingers, punching him with uncaring fists. 

Not rotten stairs. 

He holds her tight against him, noticing how long her legs are getting. She starts to settle down and kisses him again, her hair sticking to her face, eyes big and shiny from crying. 

“I missed you.” She says, staring at him without shame and she pats at the butterfly tape on his forehead. He smiles. 

“I missed you so much.” He confides and she nods to herself and then kisses the bandage. 

“Are you good at fighting bad guys?”

“Pretty good.”

She considers this. 

“Ok. Then it’s ok. Danny says Batman gets hurt sometimes too. So this is ok.” She tells him and he nods against the pillow.

“Danny’s pretty smart.”

She pulls a face.

“Yeah." 

"Gimme a kiss.” He whispers and she obliges before slipping back down to the floor. 

“I gotta go eat, but I’ll come back, ok.” She brightens, her mood already lightening. Dean smiles at her from the bed as she continues. “Let’s watch Monsters Inc.!” She suggests and Dean’s smile grows.

“It’s a date.” he responds and she nods before bounding to the door, forgetting to close it behind her. Polly snuffles beside Dean on the bed and he shuts his eyes and feels for her warm head beside him. 

He scratches her between the ears, right where grey is starting to drift into her honey-colored fur. 

“How are you sweet girl?” He asks and she licks at his wrist. 

“Me too.” He says, letting sleep wash over him like a warm wave. 

Sometimes it’s hard.

But it’s worth it.


	40. sleepy head

Dean’s not a ‘pajamas’ kind of guy. He’s more like ’t-shirt I am already wearing and probably the underwear I’m already wearing too, maybe some clean underwear, I don’t know, have I showered yet? What the hell let’s ditch the shirt it’s hot’ kind of guy, but Cas, Cas definitely has night rituals. They give him structure, so Dean doesn’t mind so much that he  _has_  to brush his teeth and that he  _has_ to have something sweet before he goes to bed, which usually encourages him to brush his teeth again, and Cas, also, usually, likes to wear pj’s. 

The term pj’s is kind of relative. It could mean your basic hanes t-shirt and flannel pants, but it could also very much mean the striped monstrosities that Cas is wearing right now. 

They’re monstrosities because they were bought for Sam by his girlfriend for Christmas, but they ended up looking completely goofy, and so they were re-gifted to Cas in the end, which really isn’t a bad thing. Cas is all about recycling, after all, and the pajamas look goofy on him, but less goofy because the ankles aren’t two inches too short, but instead an inch too long. 

When Cas comes downstairs wearing them in the morning, Dean has to hide his smile in his coffee because Cas shuffles in them or he trips, and the sleeves are constantly having to be pushed up, and he usually has misbuttoned it, causing for some odd angles, but mostly it’s about fifty kinds of adorable. 

Stupidly so. 

It’s the kind of cute that doesn’t make Dean feel like a complete idiot for having a very warm, sleepy, Cas sit on his lap at the kitchen table and look at the crosswords, scratching at his stomach in those striped pj’s, Dean laughing as he picks up the pen out of Dean’s hand and jots something in and then takes a bite of Dean’s toast before standing up to see if the coffee maker is done yet. 

And when Cas has his own food he slumps down in his chair at the table and sticks his legs out to put them back on Dean’s knees, munching his granola and yogurt and watching the birds outside, just over Dean’s shoulder, not saying much, still waking up. 

His hair sticking out all over the place, and Dean stopping every so often to just smile because his collar is all kinds of crooked.


	41. bandaid

“Here.” Cas says gruffly, putting a bandaid on Dean when he complains that he’s got a stiff elbow. Dean looks at the little bandage and then up at Cas’s grave face. “Is that better?”

“Uh.” Dean starts, and Cas takes another out, staring at him intently. 

“Do you need another?”

“No. No I’m fine…just…” Dean stares at the way Cas’s fingers are poised to start undoing the adhesive. Cas doesn’t blink and Dean finally holds out his arm.

“Sure.” He smiles, and Cas nods, as if he expected this answer, and quickly undoes it and plasters it onto Dean’s elbow, so now there are two there. 

“Better?” Cas says again, and Dean grins at him, reaching out to squeeze Cas’s hand.

“Much.”


	42. afterglow

“Oh…” Cas groans as Dean rubs his lower back, laughing as Cas arches his neck back and flops his arms uselessly on the rumpled sheets. 

“I should open a massage parlor.” Dean comments offhandedly and Cas doesn’t respond so much as makes some blissed out noise and stretch his legs out till his toes pop. Dean kneads his skin a little more, getting the kinks out, and then Cas shifts, rolling over towards Dean. He pinches Dean’s cheek and sleepily smiles at him, reaching up to comb through the top of his hair, playfully yanking it down over Dean’s forehead. 

“Hey-” Dean snorts, and Cas buries his face in Dean’s shoulder, laughing. 

“That was good.” He drawls, rubbing his cheek on Dean’s skin. “Very nice. Good job, Winchester." 

"The back rub? Yeah I know.” Dean chuckles, scratching at Cas’s back, between his shoulder blades, and Cas flops down on the pillow, snaking his legs between Dean’s. 

“Not  _just_  the backrub, you ass.”  He bites, closing his eyes and yawning. Dean puts his arm over Cas’s stomach and burrows into his own pillow, watching Cas crack an eye to look at him. 

“What?” Dean says, the sound muffled by the pillow case. Cas smiles at him and then closes his eyes. 

“You’re cute.” Cas says and Dean rolls his eyes, but he likes the way Cas scoots closer to him. “You’re really cute. That’s all.”


	43. fully cooked

“Holy shit!” Dean shoots up off of the couch, his fishing dream cut abruptly short by the horrible screeching he’s now hearing, and knocks the standing lamp over on the way to the kitchen. “CAS!" 

He gets into the room just in time to see Cas rocketing out the back door wearing oven mitts and holding a pan at arm’s length. Dean winces at the shrieking alarm, but is happy that nothing is up in flames and follows Cas out to the yard. 

Cas stands above something smoking, holding the pan out like hitting whatever it is he’s looking at will make it stop burning.

When Dean comes up behind him he sees that it is a rather sad looking, soggy, grilled cheese sandwich. 

Cas frowns and let’s the weight of the pan sink back into his hand as he drops his arms, sighing. Dean moves to his side and they both look at the pathetic little mess. 

Inside, the fire alarm is still going off, and Dean seems to blink back into reality. 

"Well, come on, let’s go turn it off.” He says, nudging at Cas’s waist. 

Cas sighs again and hears Dean go back inside, pulling a chair over to the wall so he can take the batteries out of the alarm. 

“We tried.” He whispers to the sandwich before picking it up and tossing it into the thicket behind their house. 


	44. all of five seconds*

Dean feels like a walking cliche, but he really doesn’t give a good damn. 

The blanket they’re using isn’t checkered - it’s really just an old bedspread they forgot they had in their linen closet and it’s not a basket so much as one of Dean’s old milk crates stuffed with food, but it works. 

Cas sets Danny down on the blanket once it’s spread out and Dean sets down the milk crate and then the two of them collapse under the shade of the tree. It’s a gorgeous day - 80 degrees and the sun  is dappled across the three of them, shimmering when the breeze rattles the bright green leaves above. Kids play soccer down a ways and the pond is a bustle with geese and ducks, and people are having their own picnic lunches. 

“Watch him!” Cas snaps, and Dean looks up just in time to see Danny making for the grass. Dean walks on his knees and snags him before he can get too far, and Danny shrieks happily, wiggling. 

“No, no! Stay here with us!” Dean implores, and Cas pulls a toy out of the milk crate and crackers and fruit and other stuff that he replaced when all Dean attempted to bring was a box of oreos and two bananas. 

“Hey, it’s your puppy!” Dean says, picking up the toy, a quilted, plush, dog that they’d been gifted by some hunting friend a while ago. It’s Danny’s absolute favorite. 

It jingles and Danny reaches for it and takes it out of his hand, flinging it around a little, awed at the noise. 

“That should hold him for what, all of five seconds?” Dean says, sliding his eyes to Cas who is popping containers of baby food. 

“Hmm?” He looks up and blinks at Dean, caught up in his tasks and Dean leans forward.

“I said, that should hold him for ‘all of five seconds’." 

Cas starts to smile and then looks down. 

"Dean,  _watch him!”_

“Shit -”

“Dean.”

“I mean…uh…” He pries the stick out of Daniel’s fingers and corrals him back to the blanket, holding him to make sure he doesn’t get away again. 

“Did we put sunscreen on him?” Cas blurts suddenly, looking at the tube he’s now holding. Dean strains to remember.

“Did we?” There’s a beat of worried silence and then Dean grabs the tube. “We’ll just double up I guess.” He shrugs, popping the cap and trying to keep Daniel as still as possible. Cas smiles and reaches down to stroke Daniel’s cheek. 


	45. colic*

Cas has tried  _everything._ Every trick his very muddled brain can come up with - and granted, that isn’t many tricks, but he’s trying - and Danny still won’t go down. 

He’s been fussy for a few weeks and Cas is starting to honestly believe his son hates him. He feels slightly trapped; Dean is at the garage trying to get a car ready for a customer on next-day grounds, and Cas has been trying to get Daniel to settle for at least two hours. 

He’ll get him almost there, and then one misstep, one little movement, and he’s awake and screaming again. Dean says it’s colic and that it won’t last forever; he’ll grow out of it, eventually.

Cas wonders if this is just a well-placed lie to keep him from becoming homicidal. He hasn’t slept properly in days, and he’s kept quiet about it, but now he’s just sitting with his head back in the glider, Daniel crying on his lap, and tears just streaming down his face.

Damn it all, he’s sad, and he wants to cry too. He was once a fucking soldier  _of God_  and he’s been reduced to incomprehensible frustration by a child that is barely a few months old. 

When Dean comes upstairs at a little after 11, he can’t help but feel  for the mess he sees in the nursery. Cas has his hand over his eyes, and Daniel is still crying, and Cas looks like he’s about to lose it. 

“Hey…” Dean says softly, coming in, and Cas looks up, suddenly alert, like he shouldn’t be caught like this. He starts wiping frantically at his eyes and Dean leans over Daniel and makes Cas stop. 

“I know.” Dean whispers, kissing him, “It’s ok, I know." 

"He just won't  _stop_ …" 

"I know baby, I know. Go lay down, I’ve got it." 

"Dean I should be able to do this - I should, and -”

But Dean is already taking Daniel off of his lap, shushing him. 

“It’s cause you don’t let him fall asleep on his own.” Dean smiles. “You wanna hold him; but you gotta let him learn to go down by himself, without you…he knows that if he starts crying you’ll come, and you won’t leave.” Dean explains, shushing Daniel, and Daniel screams louder than ever, but starts to eventually quiet. Cas just stays collapsed in the glider, It’s true. He doesn’t like shutting the door before Daniel’s asleep.

It makes him uneasy. He likes to be sure - so he holds him till he’s asleep. Cas watches as Dean gets Daniel down to little whimpers and squeaks before putting him back down in the crib. 

“Ok…” Dean whispers, stroking Daniel’s stomach, “Ok, Papa needs to go to sleep now or he’s going to kill someone, so you just be cool." 

Cas sniffs and wipes the moisture out of his eyes, letting Dean hoist him up out of the rocker as quietly as possible. 

"Come on.” Dean whispers, leading him out of the room, ready to put him to bed, “You’re turn.”


	46. crawl*

Dean keeps the camera steady, his belly to the floor, watching Danny as he struggles. 

“Come on, give it a big push!” he says, watching through the view screen and then glancing at his son as he pants and presses his little palms to the carpet. “Come on, you can do it!” Dean encourages, clicking the zoom and then watching as Danny squeals, his legs pitching oddly.

 

His son drags his tummy against the carpet, wrinkling his onesie, and then collapses, staring at Dean. 

“You moved a little!” Dean grins, and Danny heaves himself again, trying to get another feel for crawling. He kicks his legs and arms, but it doesn’t really coordinate and he shrieks again, looking right at Dean, frustrated. “What?” Dean says playfully, dropping his voice, and Danny makes another squeak.

“What was that? You were almost crawling!" 

"Was he?” Cas says, jogging into the room, staring at Dean. “Did he do it?”  
  
“Almost - Danny, look here, hey! Say ‘hey uncle Sammy!’” Danny swivels his head back and forth between Dean and Cas, blinking his big eyes before looking up at Cas, his brow furrowing, grunting as he tries to push up again and then collapses with a sigh.

“So close!” Dean laughs, and Cas drops to his knees, meeting Danny’s eyes.

“What a big boy…” He comments and Danny slaps his hands with little thumps on the floor, keening because he has Cas’s full attention. Dean flicks the camera off and puts it up on the coffee table, content to just watch Danny do his thing.

The baby gurlges and reaches for a toy that rattles with some interior bell as he brushes his little fat fingers against it. Dean gently pushes it towards his outstretched hand and smiles when Danny grips it and pulls it to him, already sticking one end in his mouth. 

“Can you imagine him walking?” Cas says after a moment and Dean shakes his head.

“Don’t even wanna think about it. I’m fine just like this. One day at a time.”

Cas bends down to kiss the top of Dean’s head, rubbing his back with one hand, both of them looking at Danny as he stares at the toy with wide eyes, his mouth falling open every time it jingles. 

“Me too.” Cas agrees, laughing when Danny abandons the toy and reaches for Dean’s folded arms instead.


	47. fever*

“That was quick, no traffic?” Castiel says it with only half-interest as Dean opens the door, eyes fixed on the thermometer in his pale fingers, displeasure written all over his face.

“It still going up?” Dean answers gruffly, taking it from Castiel as he moves to steal the bags from the drugstore haul from Dean’s outstretched arms.

“Just went off at 100.” Cas replies, just as Dean reads over the numbers, placing it over by the sink as a little body bumps against him.  “Danny’s too…”

“Hey big guy.” He says as Danny wraps his arms around his waist. “You feelin’ crummy?”

Danny nods, silent, his swollen eyes pressed shut. “Mmyeah.”

Dean rubs the back of his head and Danny coughs and whines.

“Danny come here so I can give this to you…” Cas says distantly, watching Faith with one eye and measuring out more of the over-the-counter cough syrup with the other, having wasted no time in fishing it out of the plastic bags that Dean has brought in. Its seven o’clock at night and what Dean pushed off as just allergies the day before is a full-fledged  _sick_  for both of them. Faith sits dazed and uncomfortable on the counter, rubbing her face, her hair matted down her back, sporting the same pj’s she’s worn since yesterday. Danny isn’t in much better shape. He pulls away from Dean and goes to Cas, standing beside him, humming another low whine, scrubbing at his stuffy nose. Faith coughs and it’s wet and nasty and Dean’s heard that cough and knows it’ll take at least a week for it to leave completely.

Dean frowns, digging for the kid’s Motrin for their fevers now that he’s not holding a sick child – its orange liquid and he can remember having to take it when he was their ages and how he hated it. He pops the plastic ring off the top and unscrews it. He pours out Danny’s serving before setting Faith’s beside Casl’s busy hands. Cas checks the dosage one last time on the purple bottle he’s currently holding and then moves to brush Faith’s bangs out of her eyes. She moves her head away and Cas puts strong fingers under her chin, looking distressed when Faith keens, all congested and pathetic sounding. Danny takes his himself, holding his nose and frowning. He sticks his tongue out and then puts the little plastic cup on the counter with a heavy sigh.  

“Here, I’ll give you some juice after you take it, ok? To get the taste out – Dean, can you get that juice she likes?” Castiel sounds as tired as Faith is, and it makes sense because Dean’s been gone all day doing the whole mechanic thing, and Cas’s been taking care of a sick child.

“Yeah.” Dean hustles to the refrigerator as Cas tips the medicine down Faith’s throat, and then goes for the Motrin next. Faith wails and Dean can already hear the tears starting and Cas is talking to her in that really-low voice, and it makes Dean feel like there’s cement mixing in his gut. Seeing Sammy sick always hurt and this is no different. He pours the juice into her favorite blue cup before stepping back towards him, waiting as she drinks the rest of her medicine and cries, Cas taking the cup without thinking. He hands it to her, stroking her hair, looking troubled. Danny leans on his elbow, staring up at his baby sister with the same concern.

“It’s ok monkey, no more medicine.” Danny tells her, his nasally voice trying to be light. He tickles her leg and Faith manages a wet giggle.

“Danny’s right. You did really well. You did so well.” Cas encourages, and Faith just greedily drinks the juice and then shoves it away, looking flushed and upset despite the praise.

“Monkey’s feelin really bad, isn’t she papa.” Danny comments and Dean nods.

“My poor little birds.” Cas says quietly, sounding equally as miserable as the kids his voice stuffed with worry. Cas lifts Faith up off the counter and starts rubbing her back; she goes limp and still except for the little hiccups and struggling breaths she emits every few seconds. She coughs, and Cas doesn’t even seem to notice, except to wince in pain at the sound. Danny gravitates back to Dean, turning around to lean his back against Dean’s legs, watching Cas rock Faith. He scratches at his stomach under his jammies and Dean strokes the sides of his face and his hot forehead.

“Daddy I’m tired.” Danny wheezes after a moment, nuzzling his face into Dean’s hand.

“I know sugar.” Dean says gruffly back, looking up at Cas. “You gonna handle her?” He asks and Cas adjusts her in his arms while she hugs his neck, making another miserable sound. Polly watches them from under the kitchen table, her ears pricking in their direction.

“I don’t know how we’re going to get her down.” Cas whispers. “She hasn’t slept at all today, and you know she didn’t last night either. She was coughing too much, and she wouldn’t settle, even when I went in there.” Dean watches him tiredly press his head on Faith’s, and he unconsciously starts doing it – the swaying thing. Back and forth, whenever he holds her, just twisting his hips side to side, and she huffs in response. It’s true – with Dean working the next day, Cas had gotten up to lay with her, but she had coughed and cried and carried on until morning where she drifted in a stupor for hours, shivery and sick. Dean watches the movement that Cas always does, one undeterred even by his tiredness, before the idea dawns on him.

“The Impala.”

The reaction is expected, Castiel’s face goes from irritation to just blank, as if Dean has said something so stupid he can’t be bothered to be even remotely surprised. He just stares at Dean, daring him to continue.  Dean does, with confidence.

“When Sammy was little my Dad would drive him around in the Impala when he wouldn’t go down. Worked like a charm.”

Castiel seems to consider this and Faith stirs, whimpering, and Cas can feel his resolve crumbling because he’s exhausted and worried.

“Ok.” He breathes, before stopping, almost reconsidering, but not really. It’s more of a qualifier what he says next. “But she needs a bath – they both do. And we’ll put some of that rub on their chests, and they have got to get out of these clothes…I should have had them change earlier but I was tired and I wasn’t thinking…”

Dean steps forward, Danny walking with him, and kisses Cas firmly over Faith’s head.

“Relax.” He whispers. “Relax, Cas.”

Cas nods and then Dean is pulling Faith out of his arms, though she is whining, but doesn’t seem to be bothered when she’s snuggled into Dean’s shoulder.

“I’ll take care of that, go eat something. Have you eaten today?”

Danny holds his free hand and keeps rubbing his red-rimmed eyes with the back of his other.

Cas doesn’t respond, moving to rummage through the cabinets, already on auto-pilot. Dean watches for a moment before Faith leans her groggy head back.

“Daddy? Can I have a bath? I feel bad.” She croaks and Dean looks down and kisses her gently on the side of the head, carrying her upstairs.

“Yeah monkey, you and Danny too.”

Danny doesn’t even complain about the prospect of it and as he dumps them both into the tub they both seem too groggy to protest as he helps them wash off all the sick of the day. When he helps them back out they smell heavenly – baby shampoo and that sweet smell of their body wash as he mops water off of them with towels.

Danny dresses slowly in his room, stepping sleepily into his pajamas and coat and boots while Dean helps Faith into her nightie and a sweater that he buttons up and socks too because it’s freezing outside. She puts her feet into them with a tiny smile, spreading her toes because they are her favorite colors: yellow and blue stripe.

 “We gonna go drive?” She slurs, coughing and Dean covers her mouth with the towel he used to dry her hair, but she shakes it off when he tries to wipe her face, her little nose red and raw, her eyes all weepy.

“Yeah, we’re gonna go drive a little bit. You wanna do that?” He says straightening the sweater a little more. She nods and then pads to Danny’s room, swaying on her feet.

She takes her big brothers hand and he lets her lead him to the stairs where they climb down carefully, still gripping each other’s fingers. Dean follows behind them, not bothered it takes them twice as long this way.

When they reach the bottom Cas is waiting in a jacket, holding Dean’s, the headlights of the Impala shining into the house from the front drive.

“My little birds feeling better after your bath?”

 “Yeah.” Faith responds, walking straight into Castiel’s waiting arms, Danny waiting to hold Dean’s hand again, snuffling. The house smells like the soup Cas made while Dean was busy playing bath monitor, and only a few lights are on. The four make their way to the Impala, sliding in, and the heater is blasting, the legos in the vents rattling around. Castiel closes the door, one arm around Faith’s back as they settle back into the give of the leather, the other around Danny who is draped halfway onto his lap, leaning on his sister who is too tired to complain. Dean eases her out of the driveway, fishing for a radio station, settling for Christmas Carols because it’s November, and turns the volume down to a low hum. The old-version of Silent Night comes on, and a Bing Crosby number, and out of the corner of his eye Dean can see that Castiel’s eyes are closed too as he bundles Faith against his chest in a huge quilt they’d bought at an antique sale a few months back (yes. They are  _those_  people now.).  He rocks, even now, just at his waist, back and forth and she stares at Dean and the landscape out the window with cracked eyes, but as they drive, Dean sees her eyes droop with the lull of the engine and the sound of the wheels. Cas’s other hand is busy smoothing Danny’s cheek and hair over and over in slow circles, and Dean smiles because Danny is already out like a light only ten feet down their street.

Faith finally falls asleep when they hit halfway through town, and Dean pulls off to u-turn and head back to the house, one arm stretched out over the back of the seat, sliding till he meets Cas’s neck. Cas doesn’t even jump at the way Dean’s hand rubs at the knob of his spine, completely lax. He smiles in contentment, Faith and Danny warm sighing lumps of quilt on his lap, a wonderful weight.

“This was a good idea.” He whispers and Dean breathes a laugh and strokes the fine hair at the base of Cas’s skull.  “For everyone.”

“I’m full of those, you know.” Dean grunts and Cas just breathes his own sighing chuckle.

“Yeah.” He bends his head ever so slightly to nuzzle against Dean’s wrist. “I know.”

Dean smiles.

They get back to the house and Dean parks the Impala and watches Cas take Faith up to bed where Dean hopes she stays properly knocked out, Danny having woken up when they pulled into the driveway, staggering along, Cas’s arm around his shoulders. Dean sets the alarm while he shrugs out of his jacket and makes sure everything is right before he follows, passing the pot of soup forgotten in the sink. He picks up Polly, even though she grumbles a bit before licking at his chin and wagging her little stumpy tail, and carries her to the second floor. Back upstairs they find Danny halfway on the mattress, having collapsed into the pillow with one foot still touching the floor. Polly wiggles and Dean let’s her gently down on Danny’s bed, where she usually sleeps.

He tucks him in properly and kisses him, Danny curling instinctively up around his worn stuffed dog, coughing lightly as Polly crawls up the bed and assumes her usual post tucked into the crook of Danny’s legs.  Dean turns on his moon lamp and closes the door with a creak. He doesn’t want to risk waking Faith, so he passes her door, and continues into he and Cas’s.  He turns the television on low and turns the lights off, twisting tiredly into a thermal and flannel pants. He finds himself just climbing into bed when Cas comes in and immediately sets about brushing his teeth and the rest of his night routine, scratching lazily at his leg for a moment while he takes his clothes off, watching whatever’s on tv. He puts on a sweatshirt and his own pants, knit, and just about collapses beside Dean after a few moments, his legs having given straight out.

“Help.” He half laughs, half whines, as Dean sits up and drags the comforter over him, the two melting together. Cas’s head lands right over Dean’s heartbeat, and he’s still in seconds, and Dean doesn’t mind that it leaves him setting the sleep timer on the TV and stroking Cas’s back under his sweatshirt, the skin warm and smooth.

“I love you.” Cas sighs, awake for a moment, and Dean sinks back into the pillows, yawning.

“Love you.”

Cas flings an arm over him and draws closer.

“That soup was really good.” He mumbles and Dean just shakes his head on the pillow, the remote starting to fall out of his fingers. 

“Was it? Was it progresso or whatever?”

“I don’t remember. I didn’t read the label.”

“Huh.”

Cas starts to breathe deep again, and he knows he’s asleep for real this time, and Dean isn’t far behind him. It’s warm and the TV is on and it’s just about as close to bliss as Dean’s ever gotten, he thinks, even when Cas sighs in sleep and his stubble scratches on his collar bone. Even with two sick kids.

They do alright. 


	48. the visit*

Castiel pulls the sweater over his head and looks out the window, rustling the blinds as he looks between them. He smiles, smoothing the sweater down. 

He can see Dean trying to hold a football, which is hard when you have a small child clinging to your arms trying to pry it from you, and if he tilts he can see Faith toddling along with Polly beside her, probably singing to herself as she wades through the grass. Dean holds the football over his head and Danny jumps for it, pawing at the front of Dean’s t-shirt before pushing  him as hard as he can. 

Dean gives in, falls to the ground, and rolls, Danny on top of him, still trying to get at the football. Faith watches in concern and then laughs, running a few clumsy steps and giggling, Polly ever the shepherd, making sure she doesn’t stray. 

It’s the best silent movie Cas has ever seen, and as he shakes his arm in the sweater, the only thing that could really pull him away is the reality that he gets to walk downstairs and be with them. The mid October sunshine is almost too good to be true, and the leaves are on fire with colors. 

As he walks down the stairs, Cas thinks about this weekend when they’ll go pick pumpkins. 

He almost doesn’t notice the angel in the room, but when he stalls at the bottom of the stairs, he must look utterly surprised. It doesn’t last, and his face quickly melts into a smile. 

“Inias.” He says and the angel turns from where he is examining one of Faith’s toys. He sets it back down on the carpet and turns more fully, straightening his suit jacket a little more. Castiel takes the last step down and stands a few feet away, and Inias is still the same as he has always been: waiting for Castiel to say something first. 

“What are you doing here?” Cas asks, courting the obvious. Inias gives a quick grin.

“Ah - just checking. On you. Dean." 

Castiel nods and he can hear them just outside in the backyard. 

"You look well!” Inias tries, “…and Dean. He looks exceptionally well.”

“He is.” Castiel finishes, and he watches the shadows through the window shades darting across the lawn, the sounds of their laughter. He wants to tell Inias what that feels like; to know that they’re there. But he knows Inias wouldn’t really understand. 

“Your children are beautiful.” Inias mumbles. “Faith and Daniel? They are very precious." Castiel turns to his former soldier and his face shines with pride. 

"They are.” He says simply before looking back at the shadows he can see past the curtains, chuckling tiredly. “You know, they try to tell you what it will be like when you’re a parent, and you try to understand, but - ” He stops, hearing his little birds laughing, “ - the real thing is really indescribable." 

A moment of silence passes and Castiel knows exactly what Inias wants to ask him, because it’s what he asks himself nearly every day. 

"I don’t.” Castiel says, and Inias looks up. Cas shakes his head. “I really don’t. Not even for a second.”

“You’re going to die someday.” Inias interjects, like the very idea alarms him. 

“It’s wonderful.” Cas completes. “Isn’t that wonderful? I get to have all this…” he turns to the windows. “…someone, somewhere, let me have all this, and sure I will die, and I won’t come back, but I get to have  _this_.”

Inias plays with the edge of his suit coat. 

“I know you don’t understand, and that’s alright.” Castiel says reassuringly. “I don’t expect you to." 

"I want to understand?” Inias tries. “I do." 

Cas smiles at him. 

"You should get back to them.” Inias says and Cas nods.   
  
“I should.”

The  next moment he’s looking at the shadow of the bookcase where Inias previously stood. Cas waits for a moment, and then goes outside.  


	49. e for effort

Cas stared down at the pie’s top, trying to tell himself he had done a good job. It would probably taste ok - it just wasn’t the prettiest. They always made it look so easy online on those DIY blogs or whatever they were called. This wasn’t as crisp and perfect looking as the picture, but it would at least pass for a decent stand in. 

It was like the understudy of the blog pie, or something. Maybe if the blog pie got sick, his pie would enthusiastically leap on stage and reprise the role, even though it wasn’t nearly as pretty.

 

Cas sighed and leaned forward, centering it a little more on the counter, hoping that maybe if it were arranged properly it would look better. It still looked kind of sad. Droopy - but he had tried. He had to keep reminding himself that because it was a good attitude to have and an important one, at that. No one got anywhere by beating themselves down. He’d learned that the hard way. 

Besides, he didn’t want the pie to feel bad. It wasn’t it’s fault. 

He put his hands back at his sides and then went back to his jigsaw puzzle, happy to bask in the noise that Dean made as he tinkered in the garage. 

Half an hour later Dean appeared, wiping his face on a grimy towel and humming some song that had been on the radio before he’d turned it off. He stopped in the hallway that connected the garage to the house, just in front of the laundry room, and took a deep inhale. 

“I smell pie,” he said to himself, walking into the kitchen, making a bee line for said pastry. He stared down on it and his eyebrows shot up. 

It wasn’t your standard confection. 

“Cas did you make this?” He asked, a smile growing. Cas nodded, snapping two pieces together. 

“Hmm. It’s supposed to look better - here,” Cas stood and came to Dean’s side, holding out the printed picture, tapping it. “It’s supposed to look a lot better, actually, but…”

“It’s awesome! I’ve  never seen one like that before. You did that? Wow." 

Cas tried to show him the picture, but Dean pushed it away, grinning. Once the page was back on the counter, Dean grabbed Cas’s hands and pulled him in, kissing him happily, pecking till Cas gave in and softened under his grip. 

"It’s awesome,” Dean repeated against Cas’s mouth before abandoning him for two plates and a knife to cut it with. He stared at the pie. “I feel bad for messing it up!” Dean exclaimed, and Cas laughed, pulling the knife away, making an even slice. 

“Well, I guess it’s fine since when you eat it you internalize the message,” Cas explained, chuckling a little. 

Dean grinned at him, tapping his side. 

“You’re the ‘apple of my pie too’, baby,” he laughed, quoting the pie’s top, the words where an crust would usually be. Cas smiled, trying to keep the slice he made from falling apart as he transferred it to one of the plates. 

“That makes me uncommonly happy,” Cas murmured, getting distracted by another kiss.


	50. chapel

Good morning lazy sunday. Good morning soft-eyed, soft-hand, soft-shirt, sunday. 

Dean pushes back from their kitchen table and Cas settles onto his lap while the coffee maker drums on the counter. 

“You want me to fix you something?” a hand creeping under Cas’ shirt, scratching lightly between his shoulder blades. A stifled yawn into the back of his hand and a shake of his head.

It’s -

“I’ll get it.”

“You want eggs?”

\- the same discussion they have every morning (how lovely, how wonderful, how precious). There are dynamics for the artist’s interpretation; subtle variation depending on day and time.

This minute it is as follows:

Piano: a quiet refusal.

Pianissimo: the warmth against Cas’ hair when Dean takes a breath. 

Pianississimo: the unspoken “ _you’re going to let me win anyway, so just decide on how you like your eggs”._

A kiss; sforzando.

“Don’t worry about it," decrescendo against Dean’s mouth. 

(this conversation always tastes like oranges)

"I’ll fix you something,” picking up the pencil to finish his puzzle. A sugar lump of laughter when Cas glances at the Marmaduke - “he looks like Sam…”. It is so nice to be resigned in this way. Resigned to Dean fixing him an egg. A piece of toast. Cold grapes.

“Babydoll, don’t let me forget about fixing that door today.”

“Alright.”

Dean’s hand falls to his thigh, squeezes appreciatively and pats or rubs a few times in the page-turning hush of Cas thumbing through the weather reports. Rain on Tuesday and it’s going to start getting colder. A shuffle of newspaper. 

“There’s a deal on chicken breast at Publix…”  
  
“Anything at Walmart?”

“I don’t think so. Wait - yes." 

"Cheaper?”

“Only by a few cents.”

“Publix is closer.” Dean decides, holding Cas on his lap with looped arms when he starts to get up. 

“My coffee is ready,” he smiles, Dean too busy kissing him into distraction. Coffee can wait. Everything can wait in the slowed down spiderweb-spun seconds of morning small talk.

Good morning, sweetheart.  


End file.
